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Essay on Man . . . . Pope. 



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The Shipwreck . . Falconer. 
. Rasselas Johnson. 

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MORNING RAMBLES IN THE ROS^ GARDENS OF HERT- 
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rejected addresses 






OR THE 



NEW THEATRUM POETARUM. 



BY 



JAMES SMITH & HOKACE SMITH. 

u i 



Fired that the House reject him ! — 'S death, I'll print it, 
And shame the Fools !— Pope. 



LONDON: PIPER, STEPHENSON, & SPENCE, 

PATERNOSTER ROW. 
1855. 



r 5452 

185"5* 







CONTENTS. 



Preface to the First Edition . 

Loyal Effusion. By W. T. F. . 

The Baby's Debut. By W. W. . 

An Address without a Phoenix. By S. T. P. 

Cui Bono ? By Lord B. 

Hampshire Farmer's Address. By "W. C. 

The Living Lustres. By T. M. . 

The B^building. By B. S. . 

Drury's Dirge. By L. M. . 

A Tale of Drury Lane. By W. S. 

Johnson's Ghost .... 

The Beautiful Incendiary. By the Hon. "W. 

Fire and Ale. By M. G. L. 

Playhouse Musings. By S. T. C. 

Drury's Hustings 

Architectural Atoms. By Dr. B. 

Theatrical Alarm Bell. By M. P. 

The Theatre. By the Rev. G. C. 

Macbeth Travestie. By M. M. . 

Stranger Travestie. By M. M. . 

George Barnwell Travestie. By M. M. 

Punch's Apotheosis. By T. H. 



The history of these so-called Rejected Addresses 
is a curious one. It was matter of town talk, that 
a legion of pens had responded to the invitation 
issued by the Drury Lane committee;^ and the idea 
of producing a series of imitations of the writings of 
the chief literary celebrities of the day, and of putting 
these forward as the veritable poems that had failed of 
success was suggested by Mr. Ward, the then secretary 
to the theatre, and eagerly caught up by James and 
Horace Smith. Thej'eu cV esprit was speedily written, 
and offered to the dons of the publishing trade, and 
by them rejected, one after the other. It at last 
came round to Mr. Miller, a theatrical bookseller in 
Co vent Garden, who, having more confidence in its 
success than his brother bibliopoles, at once agreed 
to be at the expense of printing the book, sharing 
the profits, if any, with the authors. The success 
was so complete, that shortly afterwards the two 

* See Preface to the First Edition. 



brothers sold their interest in this literary trifle to 
the publisher, for the sum of £1,000. 

The " Address without a Phoenix " was a verit- 
able rejected one, written by Horace Smith, and 
introduced into the collection with the initials of 
S. T. P. affixed to it, for the purpose of puzzling the 
critics and the public — an object which the writer 
had the satisfaction of seeing very successfully ac- 
complished. 

Few persons will need to be reminded that the 
address spoken at the opening of the theatre, was 
written at the last moment by Lord Byron, at Lord 
Holland's instigation, after the committee had found 
that their advertisement had failed to produce them 
one tolerable specimen. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FIEST EDITION. 



On the 14th of August, 1812, the following adver- 
tisement appeared in most of the daily papers : — 

"Rebuilding of Drury Lane Theatre. 

" The Committee are desirous of promoting a 
free and fair competition for an Address to be 
spoken upon the opening of the Theatre, which will 
take place on the 10th of October next. They have, 
therefore, thought fit to an irn ounce to the public, 
that they will be glad to receive any such composi- 
tions, addressed to their Secretary, at the Treasury- 
office, in Drury Lane, on or before the 10th of Sep- 
tember, sealed up, with a distinguishing word, 
number, or motto, on the cover, corresponding with 
the inscription on a separate sealed paper, contain- 
ing the name of the author, which will not be opened 



8 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

unless containing the name of the successful candi- 
date." 

Upon the propriety of this plan, men's minds 
were, as they usually are upon matters of moment, 
much divided. Some thought it a fair promise of 
the future intention of the Committee to abolish 
that phalanx of authors who usurp the stage, to the 
exclusion of a large assortment of dramatic talent 
blushing unseen in the background; while others 
contended, that the scheme would prevent men of 
real eminence from descending into an amphitheatre 
in which all Grub Street (that is to say, all London 
and Westminster) would be arrayed against them. 
The event has proved both parties to be in a degree 
right, and in a degree wrong. One hundred and 
twelve Addresses have been sent in, each sealed and 
signed, and mottoed, " as per order ;" some written 
by men of great, some by men of little, and some by 
men of no talent. 

Many of the public prints have censured the 
taste of the Committee, in thus contracting for Ad- 
dresses as they would for nails — by the gross ; but 
it is surprising that none should have censured their 
temerity. One hundred and eleven of the Addresses 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 9 

must, of course, be unsuccessful ; to each of the 
authors, thus infallibly classed with the genus irrita- 
bile, it would be very hard to deny six stanch friends, 
who consider his the best of all possible Addresses, 
and whose tongues will be as ready to laud him, as 
to hiss his adversary. These, with the potent aid 
of the bard himself, make seven foes per address ; 
and thus will be created seven hundred and seventy- 
seven implacable auditors, prepared to condemn the 
strains of Apollo himself — a band of adversaries 
which no prudent manager would think of exasper- 
ating. 

But, leaving the Committee to encounter the 
responsibility they have incurred, the public have 
at least to thank them for ascertaining and establish- 
ing one point, which might otherwise have admitted 
of controversy. When it is considered that many 
amateur writers have been discouraged from becom- 
ing competitors, and that few, if any, of the profes- 
sional authors can afford to write for nothing, and, 
of course, have not been candidates for the honorary 
prize at Drury Lane, we may confidently pronounce 
that, as far as regards number, the present is un- 
doubtedly the Augustan age of English poetry. 
Whether or not this distinction will be extended to 



10 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

tlie quality of its productions, must be decided at 
the tribunal of posterity ; though the natural anxiety 
of our authors on this score ought to be considerably 
diminished when they reflect how few will, in all 
probability, be had up for judgment. 

It is not necessary for the Editor to mention the 
manner in which he became possessed of this " fair 
sample of the present state of poetry in Great 
Britain." It was his first intention to publish the 
whole ; but a little reflection convinced him that, by 
so doing, he might depress the good, without elevat- 
ing the bad. He has therefore culled what had the 
appearance of flowers, from what possessed the reality 
of weeds, and is extremely sorry that, in so doing, he 
has diminished his collection to twenty-one. Those 
which he has rejected may possibly make their ap- 
pearance in a separate volume, or they may be 
admitted as volunteers in the files of some of the 
newspapers ; or, at all events, they are sure of being 
received among the awkward squad of the Magazines. 
In general, they bear a close resemblance to each 
other ; thirty of them contain extravagant compli- 
ments to the immortal "Wellington and the indefati- 
gable Whitbread ; and, as the last-mentioned gen- 
tleman is said to dislike praise in the exact proportion 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 11 

in which he deserves it, these laudatory writers have 
probably been only building a wall against which 
they might run their own heads. 

The Editor here begs leave to advance a few 
words in behalf of that useful and much-abused bird, 
the Phoenix ; and in so doing, he is biassed by no 
partiality, as he assures the reader he not only never 
saw one, but (mirabile dictu!) never caged one, in a 
simile, in the whole course of his life. Not less than 
sixty-nine of the competitors have invoked the aid 
of this native of Arabia ; but as, from their manner 
of using him after they had caught him, he does not 
by any means appear to have been a native of Arabia 
Felix, the Editor has left the proprietors to treat 
with Mr. Polito, and refused to receive this rara 
avis, or black swan, into the present collection. 
One exception occurs, in which the admirable treat- 
ment of this feathered incombustible entitles the 
author to great praise : that Address has been pre- 
served, and in the ensuing pages takes the lead, to 
which its dignity entitles it. 

Perhaps the reason why several of the subjoined 
productions of the Mus^ Londinensis have failed 
of selection, may be discovered in their being penned 
in a metre unusual upon occasions of this sort, and 

b 2 



U PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

in their not being written with that attention to 
stage effect, the want of which, like want of manners 
in the concerns of life, is more prejudicial than a 
deficiency of talent. There is an art in writing for 
the Theatre, technically called touch and go, which 
is indispensable when we consider the small quantum 
of patience which so motley an assemblage as a 
London audience can be expected to afford. All 
the contributors have been very exact in sending 
their initials and mottoes. Those belonging to the 
present collection have been carefully preserved, and 
each has been affixed to its respective poem. The 
letters that accompanied the Addresses having been 
honourably destroyed unopened, it is impossible to 
state the real authors with any certainty ; but the 
ingenious reader, after comparing the initials with 
the motto, and both with the poem, may form his 
own conclusions. 

The Editor does not anticipate any disapproba- 
tion from thus giving publicity to a small portion of 
the Rejected Addresses ; for unless he is widely 
mistaken in assigning the respective authors, the 
fame of each individual is established on much too 
firm a basis to be shaken by so trifling and evan- 
escent a publication as the present : 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 13 



- neque ego illi detrahere ausim. 



Haerenteni capiti multa cum laude coronam." 

Of the numerous pieces already sent to the Com- 
mittee for performance, lie has only availed himself 
of three vocal travesties, which he has selected, not 
for their merit, but simply for their brevity. Above 
one hundred spectacles, melodramas, operas, and 
pantomimes, have been transmitted, besides the two 
first acts of one legitimate comedy. Some of these 
evince considerable smartness of manual dialogue, 
and several brilliant repartees of chairs, tables, and 
other inanimate wits ; but the authors seem to have 
forgotten that in the new Drury Lane the audience 
can hear as well as see. Of late our theatres have 
been so constructed, that John Bull has been com- 
pelled to have very long ears, or none at all; to 
keep them dangling about his skull like discarded 
servants, while his eyes were gazing at piebalds and 
elephants, or else to stretch them out to an asinine 
length to catch the congenial sound of braying 
trumpets. An auricular revolution is, we trust, 
about to take place ; and as many people have been 
much puzzled to define the meaning of the new era, 
of which we have heard so much, we venture to 
pronounce, that as far as regards Drury Lane 



14 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

Theatre, the new era means the reign of ears. If 
the past affords any pledge for the future, we may 
confidently expect from the Committee of that House 
everything that can be accomplished by the union of 
taste and assiduity. 



REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



LOYAL EFFUSION. 

By W. T. F. 

(WIILLAM THOMAS FITZGERALD.) 

Quicquid dicunt, laudo : id rursuni si negant, 
Laudo id quoque.— Terence. 

Hail, glorious edifice, stupendous work ! 
God bless the Regent and the Duke of York ! 

Ye Muses ! by whose-aid I cried down Fox, 
Grant me in Drury Lane a private box, 
Where I may loll, cry " Brayo !" and profess 
The boundless powers of England's glorious press ; 
While Afric's sons exclaim, from shore to shore, 
" Quashee ma boo !" the slave trade is no more. 

In fair Arabia, (happy once, now stony, 
Since ruined by that arch apostate, Boney,) 
A phoenix late was caught : the Arab host 
Long ponder' d— part would boil it, part would roast : 
But while they ponder, up the pot-lid flies, 



16 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Fledged, beak'd, and claw'd, alive they see him rise 
To heaven, and caw defiance in the skies. 
So Drury, first in roasting flames consumed, 
Then by old renters to hot water doom'd, 
By Wyatt's trowel patted, plump and sleek, 
Soars without wings, and caws without a beak. 
Gallia's stern despot shall in vain advance 
From Paris, the metropolis of France ; 
By this day month the monster shall not gain 
A foot of land in Portugal or Spain. 
See Wellington in Salamanca's field 
Forces his favourite general to yield, 
Breaks thro' his lines, and leaves his boasted Marmont 
Expiring on the plain without his arm on : 
Madrid he enters at the cannon's mouth, 
And then the villages still further south. 
Base Buonaparte, filled with deadly ire, 
Sets, one by one, our playhouses on fire ; 
Some years ago he pounced with deadly glee on 
The Opera House, then burnt down the Pantheon ; 
Nay, still unsated, in a coat of flames, 
Next at Milbank he crossed the river Thames : 
Thy hatch, O Halfpenny ! pass'd in a trice, 
Boil'd some black pitdh, and burnt down Astley's 
twice ; 



LOYAL EFFUSION. 17 

Then buzzing on thro' aether, with a vile hum, 
Turn'd to the left hand, fronting the Asylum, 
And burnt the Royal Circus in a hurry, — 
('Twas caird the Circus then, but now the Surrey). 

Who burnt (confound his soul !) the houses twain 
Of Covent Garden and of Drury Lane ? 
Who, while the British squadron lay off Cork, 
(God bless the Regent and the Duke of York !) 
With a foul earthquake ravaged the Caraccas, 
And raised the price of dry goods and tobaccos ? 
Who makes the quartern loaf and Luddites rise ? 
Who fills the butchers' shops with large blue flies ? 
Who thought in flames St. James's court to pinch ? 
Who burnt the wardrobe of poor Lady Finch ? 
Why he, who, forging for this isle a yoke, 
Reminds me of a line I lately spoke, 
" The tree of freedom is the British oak." 

Bless every man possessed of aught to give ; 
Long may Long Tilney Wellesley Long Pole live ; 
God bless the army, bless their coats of scarlet, 
God bless the navy, bless the Princess Charlotte, 
God bless the guards, though worsted Gallia scoff, 
And bless their pig-tails, tho' they're now cut off; 
And oh, in Downing Street should old Nick revel, 
England's prime minister, then bless the Devil ! 



18 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



THE BABY'S DEBUT. 

By W. W. 

(WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.) 

Thy lisping prattle and thy mincing gait, 
All thy false mimic fooleries I hate, 
For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she 
"Who is right foolish hath the better plea ; 
Nature's true Idiot I prefer to thee. — Cumberland. 

[Spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of 
age, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by 
Samuel Hughes, her uncle's porter. ] 

My brother Jack was nine in May, 
And I was eight on New Year's Day ; 

So in Kate Wilson's shop, 
Papa (he's my papa and Jack's,) 
Bought me, last week, a doll of wax, 

And brother Jack a top. 

Jack 's in the pouts, and this it is, — 
He thinks mine came to more than his ; 

So to my drawer he goes, 
Takes out the doll, and, 0, my stars ! 
He pokes her head between the bars, 

And melts off half her nose ! 



THE BABY'S DEBUT. 19 

Quite cross, a bit of string I beg, 
And tie it to bis peg-top's peg, 

And bang, with might and main, 
Its head against the parlour -do or : 
Off flies the head, and hits the floor, 

And breaks a window-pane. 

This made him cry with rage and spite : 
Well, let him cry, it serves him right. 

A pretty thing, forsooth ! 
If he's to melt, all scalding hot, 
Half my doll's nose, and I am not 

To draw his peg-top's tooth ! 

Aunt Hannah heard the window break, 
And cried, " O naughty Nancy Lake, 

Thus to distress your aunt : 
No Drury Lane for you to-day !" 
And while papa said, " Pooh, she may !" 

Mamma said, " No, she shan't !" 

Well, after many a sad reproach, 
They got into a hackney-coach, 
And trotted down the street. 



20 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

I saw them go : one horse was blind, 
The tails of both hung down behind. 
Their shoes were on their feet. 



The chaise in which poor brother Bill 
Used to be drawn to Pentonville, 

Stood in the lumber-room. 
I wiped the dust from off the top, 
While Molly mopp'd it with a mop, 

And brushed it with a broom. 

My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes, 
Came in at six to black the shoes, 

(I always talk to Sam : ) 
So what does he, but takes, and drags 
Me in the chaise along the flags, 

And leaves me where I am. 

My father's walls are made of brick, 
But not so tall and not so thick 

As these ; and, goodness me ! 
My father's beams are made of wood, 
But never, never half so good 

As these that now I see. 



THE BABY'S DEBUT. 21 

What a large floor ! 'tis like a town ! 
The carpet, when they lay it down, 

Won't hide it, I'll be bound. 
And there's a row of lamps ! — my eye ! 
How they do blaze ! I wonder why 

They keep them on the ground. 

At first I caught hold of the wing, 

And kept away ; but Mr. Thing- 
umbob, the prompter man, 

Gave with his hand my chaise a shove, 

And said, " Go on, my pretty love ; 
Speak to 'em, little Nan. 

" You've only got to curtsey, whisp- 
er, hold your chin up, laugh, and lisp, 

And then you're sure to take : 
I've known the day when brats, not quite 
Thirteen, got fifty pounds a night ; 

Then why not Nancy Lake ?" 

But while I'm speaking, where' s papa ? 
And where' s my aunt ? and where' s mamma ? 
Where's Jack ? O, there they sit ! 



REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

They smile, they nod ; I'lhgo my ways, 
And order round poor Billy's chaise, 
To join them in the pit. 

And now, good gentlefolks, I go 
To join mamma, and see the show ; 

So bidding you adieu, 
I curtsey, like a pretty miss, 
And if you'll blow to me a kiss, 

I'll blow a kiss to you. 

[Blows a hiss , and exit. 



AN ADDRESS WITHOUT A PHCENIX. 23 



AN ADDRESS WITHOUT A PHCENIX. 

By S. T. P. 



This was looked for at your hand, and this was balked. 

What You Witt. 



What stately vision mocks my waking sense ? 
Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment, hence ! 
Ha ! is it real ? — can my doubts be vain ? 
It is, it is, and Drury lives again ! 
Around each grateful veteran attends, 
Eager to rush and gratulate his friends, 
Friends whose kind looks, retraced with proud de- 
light, 
Endear the past, and make the future bright : 
Yes, generous patrons, your returning smile 
Blesses our toils, and consecrates our pile. 

When last we met, Fate's unrelenting hand 
Already grasped the devastating brand ; 
Slow crept the silent flame, ensnared its prize, 
Then burst resistless to the astonished skies. 



24 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

The glowing walls, disrobed of scenic pride, 
In trembling conflict stemmed the burning tide, 
Till crackling, blazing, rocking to its fall, 
Down rushed the thundering roof, and buried all ! 

Where late the sister Muses sweetly sung, 
And raptured thousands on their Music hung, 
Where Wit and Wisdom shone, by Beauty graced, 
Sat lonely Silence, empress of the waste ; 
And still had reigned — but he, whose voice can 

raise 
More magic wonders than Amphion's lays, 
Bade jarring bands with friendly zeal engage 
To rear the prostrate glories of the stage. 
Up leaped the Muses at the potent spell, 
And Drury's genius saw his temple swell ; 
Worthy, we hope, the British Drama's cause, 
Worthy of British arts, and your applause. 

Guided by you, our earnest aims presume 
To renovate the Drama with the dome ; 
The scenes of Shakspeare and our bards of old, 
With due observance splendidly unfold, 
Yet raise and foster with parental hand 
The living talent of our native land. 



I 



AN ADDKESS WITHOUT A PHOENIX. 25 

O ! may we still, to sense and nature true, 
Delight the many, nor offend the few. 
Though varying tastes our changeful Drama claim, 
Still be its moral tendency the same, 
To win by precept, by example warn, 
To brand the front of Vice with pointed scorn, 
And Virtue's smiling brows with votive wreaths 
adorn. 



26 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



CUI BONO? 

By Lord B. 

(lord byron.) 

I. 
Sated with, home, of wife, of children tired, 
The restless soul is driven abroad to roam ; 
Sated abroad, all seen, yet nought admired, 
The restless soul is driven to ramble home ; 
Sated with both, beneath new Drury's dome 
The fiend Ennui awhile consents to pine, 
There growls, and curses, like a deadly Gnome, 
Scorning to view fantastic Columbine, 
Viewing with scorn and hate the nonsense of the 
Nine. 

ii. 
Ye reckless dupes, who hither wend your way 
To gaze on puppets in a painted dome, 
Pursuing pastimes glittering to betray, 
Like falling stars in life's eternal gloom, 
What seek ye here ? Joy's evanescent bloom ? 



CUI BONO? 27 

Woe's me ! the brightest wreaths she ever gave 
Are but as flowers that decorate a tomb. 
Man's heart, the mournful urn o'er which they wave, 
Is sacred to despair, its pedestal the grave. 

in. 
Has life so little store of real woes, 
That here ye wend to taste fictitious grief? 
Or is it that from truth such anguish flows, 
Ye court the lying drama for relief ? 
Long shall ye find the pang, the respite brief : 
Or if one tolerable page appears 
In folly's volume, 'tis the actor's leaf, 
Who dries his own by drawing others' tears, 
And, raising present mirth, makes glad his future 
years. 

IV. 

Albeit how like young Betty doth he flee ! 
Light as the mote that daunceth in the beam, 
He liveth only in man's present e'e, 
His life a flash, his memory a dream, 
Oblivious down he drops in Lethe's stream ; 
Yet what are they, the learned and the great? 
Awhile of longer wonderment the theme ! 

c 2 



28 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Who shall presume to prophesy their date, 
Where nought is certain, save th' uncertainty of fate ? 

v. 
This goodly pile, upheaved by Wyatt's toil, 
Perchance than Holland's edifice more fleet, 
Again red Lemnos' artizan may spoil ; 
The fire alarm, and midnight drum may beat, 
And all be strew' d ysmoking at your feet. 
Start ye ? Perchance Death's angel may be sent 
Ere from the flaming temple ye retreat, 
And ye who met on revel idlesse bent 
May find in pleasure's fane your grave and monu- 
ment. 

VI. 

Your debts mount high — ye plunge in deeper waste, 
The tradesman calls — no warning voice ye hear ; 
The plaintiff sues — to public shows ye haste ; 
The bailiff threats — ye feel no idle fear. 
Who can arrest your prodigal career ? 
Who can keep down the levity of youth ? 
What sound can startle age's stubborn ear ? . 
Who can redeem from wretchedness and ruth 
Men true to falsehood's voice, false to the voice of 
truth ? 



CUI BONO ? 29 

Til. 

To thee, blest saint ! who doffed thy skin to make 
The Smithfieid rabble leap from theirs with joy, 
We dedicate the pile — arise ! awake ! — 
Knock down the muses, wit and sense destroy, 
Clear our new stage from reason's dull alloy, 
Charm hobbling age, and tickle capering youth 
With cleaver, marrow-bone, and Tunbridge toy ; 
While, vibrating in unbelieving tooth, 
Harps twang in Drury's walls, and make her boards 
a booth. 

VIII. 

For what is Hamlet, but a hare in March ? 

And what is Brutus, but a croaking owl ? 

And what is Rolla ? Cupid steep' d in starch, 

Orlando's helmet in Augustine's cowl. 

Shakspeare, how true thine adage, " fair is foul ; " 

To him whose soul is with fruition fraught, 

The song of Braham is an Irish howl, 

Thinking is but an idle waste of thought, 

And nought is everything, and everything is nought. 

IX. 

Sons of Parnassus ! whom I view above, 
Not laurel-crown' d, but clad in rusty black, 



30 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Not spurring Pegasus through Tempe's grove, 
But pacing Grub Street on a jaded hack, 
What reams of foolscap, while your brains ye rack, 
Ye mar to make again ! for sure, ere long, 
Condemn' d to tread the bard's time-sanction' d track, 
Ye all shall join the bailiff-haunted throng, 
And reproduce in rags, the rags ye blot in song. 



So fares the follower in the Muses' train, 
He toils to starve, and only lives in death ; 
We slight him till our patronage is vain, 
Then round his skeleton a garland wreathe, 
And o'er his bones an empty requiem breathe — 
Oh ! with what tragic horror would he start, 
(Could he be conjured from the grave beneath) 
To find the stage again a Thespian cart, 
And elephants and colts down trample Shakspeare's 
art. 

XI. 

Hence, pedant Nature ! with thy Grecian rules ! 
Centaurs, (not fabulous) those rules efface ; 
Back, sister muses, to your native schools ; 
Here booted grooms usurp Apollo's place, 
Hoofs shame the boards that Garrick used to grace, 



CUI BONO? 31 

The play of limbs succeeds the play of wit ; 
Man yields the drama to the Houynim race, 
His prompter spurs, his licencer the bit, 
The stage a stable-yard, a jockey-club the pit. 

XII. 

Is it for these ye rear this proud abode ? 
Is it for these your superstition seeks 
To build a temple worthy of a god, 
To laud a monkey, or to worship leeks ? 
Then be the stage to recompense your freaks, 
A motley chaos, jumbling age and ranks. 
Where Punch, the lignum yitse Roscius, squeaks, 
And wisdom weeps, and Folly plays his pranks, 
And moody Madness laughs, and hugs the chain he 
clanks. 



32 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



To the Secretary of the Managing Committee of 
Drury Lane Playhouse. 

Sin, — To the gewgaw fetters of rhyme, (invented by 
the monks to enslave the people,) I have a rooted 
objection. I have therefore written an address for 
your theatre in plain, homespun, yeoman's prose ; 
in the doing whereof I hope I am swayed by nothing 
but an independent wish to open the eyes of this 
gulled people, to prevent a repetition of the dramatic 
bamboozling they have hitherto laboured under. If 
you like what I have done, and mean to make use of 
it, I don't want any such aristocratic reward as a 
piece of plate, with two griffins sprawling upon it, 
or a dog and a jackass fighting for a ha'p' worth of 
gilt gingerbread, or any such Bartholomew Fair 
nonsense. All I ask is, that the door keepers of 
your playhouse may take all the sets of my Register, 
now on hand, and force everybody who enters your 
doors to buy one, giving afterwards a debtor and 



HAMPSHIRE FARMER'S ADDRESS. 33 

creditor account of what they have received, post- 
paid, and in due course remitting me the money and 
unsold Registers, carriage-paid. 
I am, -etc. 

W. C. 

(WILLIAM COBBETT.) 



IN THE CHARACTER OF 

A HAMPSHIRE FARMER. 

-Rabida qui concitus ira 



Implevit pariter ternis latratibus auras, 

Et sparsit virides spumis albentibus agros. — Ovid. 

Most Thinking People, — When persons address 
an audience from the stage, it is usual, either in 
words or gesture, to say : " Ladies and Gentlemen, 
your servant." If I were base enough, mean enough, 
paltry enough, and brute beast enough, to follow that 
fashion, I should tell two lies in a breath. In the 
first place, you are not Ladies and Gentlemen, but I 
hope something better, that is to say, honest men 
and women ; and in the next place, if you were ever 
so much ladies, and ever so much gentlemen, I am not, 
nor ever will be, your humble servant. You see me here. 






34 . REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

most thinking people, by mere chance. I have not been 
within the doors of a playhouse before for these ten 
years, nor till that abominable custom of taking money 
at the doors is discontinued, will I ever sanction a 
theatre with my presence. The stage door is the only 
gate of freedom in the whole edifice, and through that 
1 made my way from Bagshaw's in Brydges Street, to 
accost you. Look about you. Are you not all 
comfortable ? Nay, never slink, mun ; speak out, if 
you are dissatisfied, and tell me so before I leave 
town. You are now, (thanks to Mr. Whitbread,) 
got into a large, comfortable house. Not into a 
gimcrack palace ; not into a Solomon's temple ; not 
into a frost-work of Brobdignag filagree ; but into a 
plain, honest, homely, industrious, wholesome, brown 
brick playhouse. You have been struggling for in- 
dependence and elbow-room these three years ; and 
who gave it you ? Who helped you out of Lilli- 
put ? Who routed you from a rat-hole, five inches 
by four, to perch you in a palace ? Again and again 
I answer, Mr. Whitbread. You might have swel- 
tered in that place with the Greek name till Dooms- 
day, and neither Lord Castlereagh, Mr. Canning, no, 
nor the Marquis Wellesley, would have turned a 
trowel to help you out ! Remember that. Never 



HAMPSHIRE FARMER'S ADDRESS. 35 

forget that. Read it to your children, and to your 
children's children ! And now, most thinking people, 
cast your eyes oyer my head to what the builder, (I 
beg his pardon, the architect,) calls the proscenium. 
No motto, no slang, no popish Latin to keep the 
people in the dark. No Vein ti in speculum. Nothing 
in the dead languages, — properly so called, for they 
ought to die, ay, and be damned to boot ! The 
Coyent Garden Manager tried that, and a pretty 
business he made of it ! When a man says Veluti 
in speculum, he is called a man of letters. Very well ; 
and is not a man who cries 0. P. a man of letters 
too ? You ran your O. P. against his Veluti in 
speculum, and pray which beat ? I prophesied that, 
though I neyer told anybody. I take it for granted, 
that eyery intelligent man, woman, and child, to 
whom I address myself, has stood seyerally and re- 
spectively in Little Russell Street, and cast their, his, 
her, and its eyes on the outside of this building 
before they paid their money to yiew the inside. 
Look at the brick work, English Audience ! Look 
at the brick work ! All plain and smooth like a 
quaker's meeting. None of your Egyptian pyramids, 
to entomb subscriber's capitals, No oyergrown 
• colonnades of stone, like an alderman's gouty legs in 



36 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

white cotton stockings, fit only to use as rammers 
for paving Tottenham Court Koad. This house is 
neither after the model of a temple in Athens, no, 
nor a temple in Moorfields, but it is built to act 
English plays in ; and provided you have good 
scenery, dresses, and decorations, I dare say you 
wouldn't break your hearts if the outside were as 
plain as the pikestaff I used to carry when I was a 
sergeant. Apropos, as the French valets say, who 
cut their masters' throats, — apropos, a word about 
dresses. You must, many of you, have seen what 
I have read a description of, Kemble and Mrs. 
Siddons in Macbeth, with more gold and silver 
plaistered on their doublets, than would have kept 
an honest family in butcher's meat and flannel from 
year's end to year's end ! I am informed — now mind, 
I do not vouch for the fact — but I am'informed that 
all such extravagant idleness is to be done away 
with here. Lady Macbeth is to have a plain quilted 
petticoat, a cotton gown, and a mob cap, (as the 
court parasites call it ; it will be well for them if, 
one of these days, they don't wear a mob cap — I 
mean a white cap, with a mob to look at them), — and 
Macbeth is to appear in an honest yeoman's drab 
coat, and a pair of black calamanco breeches. Not 



HAMPSHIRE FARMER'S ADDRESS. 37 

/Sa/amanca ; no, nor Talavera neither, my most 
Noble Marquis, but plain, honest, black calamanco 
stuff breeches. This is right ; this is as it should 
be. Most thinking people, I have heard you much 
abused. There is not a compound in the language 
but is strung fifty in a rope, like onions, by the 
Morning Post, and hurled in your teeth. You are 
called the mob, and when they have made you out 
to be the mob, you are called the scum of the people, 
and the dregs of the people. I should like to know 
how you can be both. Take a basin of broth — not 
cheap soup, Mr. Wilberforce, not soup for the poor 
at a penny a quart, as your mixture of horses' legs, 
brick-dust, and old shoes was denominated — but 
plain, wholesome, patriotic beef or mutton broth ; 
take this, examine it, and you will find — mind I 
don't vouch for the fact, but I am told you will find 
the dregs at the bottom, and the scum at the top. 
I will endeavour to explain this to you : England is 
a large earthenivare pipkin. John Bull is the beef 
thrown into it. Taxes are. the hot water he boils in. 
Rotten boroughs are the fuel that blazes under 
this same pipkin. Parliament is the ladle that stirs 

the hodge-podge, and sometimes but hold, I 

don't wish to pay Mr. Newman a second visit. I 



38 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

leave you better off than you have been this many a 
day. You have a good house over your head ; you 
have beat the French in Spain; the harvest has 
turned out well ; the comet keeps its distance ; and 
red slippers are hawked about in Constantinople 
for next to nothing; and for all this, again and 
again, I tell you, you are indebted to Mr. Whit- 
bread ! ! ! 



THE LIVING LUSTRES. 39 



THE LIVING LUSTRES. 

By T. M. 

(THOMAS MOORE.) 

Jam te juvayerit 
Viros relinquere, 
Docteeque conjugis 
Sinn quiescere. — Sir T. More. 

why should our dull retrospective addresses, 
Fall damp as wet blankets on Drury-Lane fire r 

Away with, blue devils, away with distresses, 
And give the gay spirit to sparkling desire ! 

Let artists decide on the beauties of Drury, 
The richest to me is when woman is there ; 

The question of houses I leave to the jury; 
The fairest to me is the house of the fair. 

When woman's soft smile all our senses bewilders, 
And gilds, while it carves, her dear form on the 
heart, 

What need has New Drury of carvers and gilders ? 
With Nature so bounteous, why call upon Art ? 



40 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

How well would our actors attend to their duties, 
Our house save in oil, and our authors in wit, 

In lieu of yon lamps, if a row of young beauties 
Glanced light from their eyes between us and the 
pit! 

The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge, 
By woman were pluck' d, and she still wears the 
prize, 

To tempt us in theatre, senate, or college, — 
I mean the love-apples that bloom in the eyes. 

There too is the lash, which, all statutes controlling, 
Still governs the slaves that are made by the fair, 

For man is the pupil, who, while her eye 's rolling, 
Is lifted to rapture, or sunk in despair. 

Bloom, Theatre, bloom, in the roseate blushes 
Of beauty illumed by a love-breathing smile ! 

And flourish, ye pillars, as green as the rushes 
That pillow the nymphs of the Emerald Isle. 

For dear is the Emerald Isle of the Ocean, 

Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave, 

Whose sons, unaccustomed to rebel commotion, 
TW joyous are sober, tho' peaceful are brave. 



THE LIVING LUSTRES. 41 

The shamrock their olive, sworn foe to a quarrel, 
Protects from the thunder and lightning of rows ; 

Their sprig of shillelagh is nothing but laurel, 
Which nourishes rapidly over their brows. 

Oh ! soon shall they burst the tyrannical shackles, 
Which each panting bosom indignantly names, 

Until not one goose at the capital cackles, 

Against the grand question of Catholic claims. 

And then shall each Paddy, who once on the Liny 7 , 
Perchance held the helm of some mackerel hoy, 

Hold the helm of the state, and dispense in a jiffy 
More fishes than ever he caught when a boy. 

And those who now quit their hods, shovels, and 
barrows, 
In crowds to the bar of some ale-house to flock, 
When bred to our bar shall be Gibbs's and Garrows, 
Assume the silk gown, and discard the smock- 
frock. 

For Erin surpasses the daughters of Neptune, 
As Dian outshines each encircling star, 

And the spheres of the Heavens could never have 
kept tune 
Till set to the music of Erin- go-bra ! 

D 



42 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



THE REBUILDING. 

By E. S. 

(ROBERT SOUTHEY.) 

per audaces nova dithyrambos 

Verba devolvit, numerisque fertur 
Lege solutis. — Horat. 

Spoken by a Glendoveer. 

I am a blessed Glendoveer ; 

J Tis mine to speak, and yours to hear. 

Midnight, yet not a nose 
From Tower Hill to Piccadilly snored ! 

Midnight, yet not a nose 
From Indra drew the essence of repose ! 
See with what crimson fury, 
By Indra fann'd, the god of fire ascends the walls of 
Drury ; 
The tops of houses, blue with lead, 
Bend beneath the landlord's tread. 
Master and 'prentice, serving man and lord, 
Nailor and tailor, 



THE REBUILDING. 43 

Grazier and brazier, 
Thro' streets and alleys pour'd, 
All, all abroad to gaze, 
And wonder at the blaze. 
Thick calf, fat foot, and slim knee, 

Mounted on roof and chimney, 
The mighty roast, the mighty stew 
To see ; 
* As if the dismal view 
Were but to them a Brentford jubilee. 

Vainly, all radiant Surya, sire of Phaeton, 
(By the Greeks called Apollo) 

Hollow 
Sounds from thy harp proceed ; 
Combustible as reed, 
The tongue of Vulcan licks thy wooden legs : 
From Drury's top, dissever'd from thy pegs, 
Thou tumblest, 
Humblest, 
Where late thy bright effulgence shone on high : 
While, by thy somerset excited, fly 
Ten million. 
BiUion 
Sparks from the pit, to gem the sable sky. 

d 2 



44 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Now come the men of fire to quench the fires, 
To Russell Street see Globe and Atlas run, 
Hope gallops first, and second Sun ; 
On flying heel, 
See Hand-in- Hand 
O'ertake the band ; 
View with what glowing wheel 
He nicks 
Phoenix ; 
While Albion scampers from Bride Street, Black- 
friars, 
Drury Lane ! Drury Lane ! 
Drury Lane ! Drury Lane ! 
They shout and they bellow again and again. 
All, all in vain ! 
Water turns steam ; 
Each blazing beam 
Hisses defiance to the eddying spout, 
It seems but too plain that nothing can put it out ! 
Drury Lane ! Drury Lane ! 
See, Drury Lane expires ! 

Pent in by smoke-dried beams, twelve moons or more, 
Shorn of his ray, 
Surya in durance lay : 



THE REBUILDING. 45 

The workmen heard him shout, 
But thought it would not pay 
To dig him out. 
When lo ! terrific Yamen, lord of hell, 
Solemn as lead, 
Judge of the dead, 
Sworn foe to witticism, 
By men called criticism, 
Came passing by that way : 
Rise ! cried the fiend, behold a sight of gladness ! 
Behold the rival theatre, 

Tve set O. P. at her, 
Who, like a bull-dog bold, 
Growls and fastens on his hold ; 
The many-headed rabble roar in madness : 
Thy rival staggers ; come and spy her 
Deep in the mud as thou art in the mire. 

So saying, in his arms he caught the beaming one, 
And crossing Russell Street, 
He placed him on his feet, 
'Neath Covent Garden dome. Sudden a sound 
As of the bricklayers of Babel rose : 
Horns, rattles, drums, tin trumpets, sheets of copper, 
Punches and slaps, thwacks of all sorts and sizes, 



46 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

From the knobbed bludgeon to the taper switch, 
Ran echoing round the walls ; paper placards 
Blotted the lamps, boots brown with mud the 
benches : 
A sea of heads roll'd roaring in the pit : 
On paper wings, O. P.'s 
Reclined in letter' d ease ; 
While shout and scoff, 
Yah, yah! off, off! 
Like thunderbolt on Surya's ear-drum fell, 
And seemed to paint 
The savage oddities of Saint 
Bartholomew in hell. 

Tears dimmed the god of light ; 
Bear me back, Yamen, from this hideous sight, 
Bear me back, Yamen, I grow sick, 
Oh ! bury me again in brick ; 
Shall I on New Drury tremble, 
TobeO. P.'dlikeKemble? 
No; 
Better remain by rubbish guarded, 
Than thus hubbubish groan placarded ; 
Bear me back, Yamen, bear me quick, 
And bury me again in brick. 



THE REBUILDING. 47 

Obedient Yamen 
Answer' d, Amen, 

And did 
As he was bid. 

There lay the buried god, and Time 
Seem'd to decree eternity of lime ; 
But pity, like a dew-drop, gently prest 
Almighty Veeshnoo's adamantine breast : 
He, the preserver, ardent still 
To do whate'er he says he will, 
From South-hill urged his way, 
To raise the drooping lord of day. 
All earthly shells the busy one o'erpower'd ; 

He treats with men of all conditions, 
Poets and players, tradesmen and musicians ; 
Nay, even ventures 
To attack the renters, 
Old and new : 
A list he gets 
Of claims and debts, 
And deems nought done while aught remains to do. 
Yamen beheld and wither' d at the sight ; 
Long had he aim'd the sunbeam to control, 
For light was hateful to his soul : 



48 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Go on, cried the hellish one, yellow with spite, 
Go on, cried the hellish one, yellow with spleen, 
Thy toils of the morning, like Ithaca's queen, 
I'll toil to undo every night. 

Ye sons of song rejoice ! 
Veeshnoo has still' d the jarring elements, 
The spheres hymn music ; 
Again the god of day 
Peeps forth* with trembling ray, 
And pours at intervals a strain divine. 
I have an iron yet in the fire, cried Yamen ; 
The vollied flame rides in my breath, 
My blast is elemental death ; 
This hand shall tear their paper bonds to pieces ; 
Ingross your deeds, assignments, leases, 
My breath shall every line erase 
Soon as I blow the blaze. 
The lawyers are met at the Crown and Anchor, 
And Yamen' s visage grows blanker and blanker. 
The lawyers are met at the Anchor and Crown, 
And Yamen' s cheek is a russety brown. 
Veeshnoo, now thy work proceeds ; 
The solicitor reads, 
And, merit of merit, 



THE REBUILDING. 49 

Red wax and green ferret 
Are fixed at the foot of the deeds ! 

Yamen beheld and shiver' d ; 

His finger and thumb were cramp' d ; 

His ear by the flea in 't was bitten, 

When he saw by the lawyer's clerk written, 

Seal'd and delivered, 

Being first duly stamped. 

Now for my turn, the demon cries, and blows 
A blast of sulphur from his mouth and nose ; 
Ah ! bootless aim ! the critic fiend, 
Sagacious Yamen, judge of hell, 
Is judged in his turn ; 
Parchment won't burn ! 
His schemes of vengeance are dissolv'd in air. 
Parchment won't tear ! 

Is it not written in the Himakoot book, 

(That mighty Baly from Kehama took) 

" Who blows on pounce 

Must the Swerga renounce ?" 

It is ! it is ! Yamen, thine hour is nigh ; 

Like as an eagle claws an asp, 



50 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Veeshnoo has caught him in his mighty grasp, 
And hurl'd him, in spite of his shrieks and his squall 
Whizzing aloft like the Temple fountain, 
Three times as high as Meru mountain, 

Which is 
Ninety-nine times as high as St. Paul's. 
Descending, he twisted like Levi, the Jew, 
Who a durable grave meant 
To dig in the pavement 
Of Monument Yard ; 
To earth by the laws of attraction he flew, 
And he fell, and he fell, 
To the regions of hell ; 
Nine centuries bounced he from cavern to rock, 
And his head, as he tumbled, went nickety nock, 
Like a pebble in Carisbrook well. 

Now Veeshnoo turn'd round to a capering varlet, 
Array' d in blue and white and scarlet, 
And cried, " Oh ! brown of slipper as of hat, 
Lend me, Harlequin, thy bat!" 
He seized the wooden sword, and smote the earth, 
When, lo ! upstarting into birth, 
A fabric, gorgeous to behold, 
Outshone in elegance the old, 



THE REBUILDING. 51 

And Veeshnoo saw, and cried, " Hail, playhouse 
mine !" 

r 

Then, bending his head, to Surya he said, 
" Go, mount yon edifice, 
And show thy steady face 
In renovated pride — 
More bright, more glorious than before !" 
But, ah ! coy Surya still felt a twinge, 
Still smarted from his former singe, 
And to Veeshnoo replied, 
In a tone rather gruff, 
" No, thank you ! one tumble 's enough I" 



52 REJECTED ADDRESSE8. 



DRTJRY'S DIRGE. 

By Laura Matilda. 

You praise our sires : but though they wrote with force, 
Their rhymes were vicious, and their diction coarse : 
We want their strength, agreed ; but we atone 
For that and more, by sweetness all our own.— Giffoed. 

Balmy Zephyrs lightly flitting, 

Shade me with your azure wing ; 

On Parnassus' summit sitting, 
Aid me, Clio, while I sing. 

Softly slept the dome of Drary,* 
O'er the empyreal crest, 

When Alecto's sister-fury, 

Softly slumVring sunk to rest. 

Lo ! from Lemnos limping lamely, 
Lags the lowly Lord of Fire, 

Cytherea yielding tamely, 

To the Cyclops dark and dire. 

Clouds of amber, dreams of gladness, 
Dulcet joys and sports of youth, 

Soon must yield to haughty sadness, 
Mercy holds the veil to Truth. 



drury's dirge.; 53 

See Erostratus the Second, 

Fires again Diana's fane ; 
By the Fates from Orcus beckon' d, 

Clouds envelop Drury Lane. 

Lurid smoke and frank suspicion, 
Hand in hand reluctant dance : 

While the God fulfils his mission, 
Chivalry resign thy lance. 

Hark ! the engines blandly thunder, 

Fleecy clouds disheveled lie, 
And the firemen, mute with wonder, 

On the son of Saturn cry. 

See tjie bird of Amnion sailing, 
Perches on the engine's peak, 

And the Eagle firemen hailing, 

Soothes them with its bickering beak. 

Juno saw, and mad with malice, 

Lost the prize that Paris gave ; 

Jealousy's ensanguin'd chalice, 

Mantling pours the orient wave. 

Pan beheld Petroclus dying, 
Nox to Niobe was turn'd ; 



54 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

From Busiris Bacchus flying, 
Saw his Semele inurn'd. 

Thus fell Drury's lofty glory, 

LevelTd with the shuddering stones ; 
Mars with tresses black and gory, 

Drinks the dew of pearly groans. 

Hark ! what soft Eolian numbers, 
Gem the blushes of the morn ; 

Break, Amphion, break your slumbers, 
Nature"' s ringlets deck the thorn. 

Ha ! I hear the strain erratic, 

Dimly glance from pole to pole, 

Raptures sweet and dreams ecstatic 
Fire my everlasting soul. 

Where is Cupid's crimson motion ? 

Billowy ecstacy of woe, 
Bear me straight, meandering ocean, 

Where the stagnant torrents flow. 

Blood in every vein is gushing, 

Vixen vengeance lulls my heart, 

See, the Gorgon gang is rushing ! 
Never, never let us part. 



A TALE OF DRURY LANE. 55 



A TALE OF DRURY LANE. 

By W. S. 

(SIR WALTER SCOTT.) 

1 Thus he went on, stringing one extravagance upon another, in the 
style his books of chivalry had taught him, and imitating as near as 
he could their very phrase. — Don Quixote. 

To be spoken by Mr. Kemble in a Suit of the Black Prince's 
Armour, borrowed from the Tower, 

Survey this shield all bossy bright ; 
These cuisses twain behold ; 
Look on my form in armour dight 
Of steel inlaid with gold. 
My knees are stiff in iron buckles, 
Stiff spikes of steel protect my knuckles. 
These once belong' d to sable prince, 
Who never did in battle wince ; 
With valour tart as pungent quince, 

He slew the vaunting Gaul : 
Rest there awhile, my bearded lance, 
While from green curtain I advance 
To yon foot-lights, no trivial dance, 
And tell the town what sad mischance 

Did Drury Lane befall. 



56 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

On fair Augusta's towers and trees 

Flitted the silent midnight breeze, 

Curling the foliage as it past, 

Which from the moon-tipp'd plumage cast 

A spangled light like dancing spray, 

Then re-assumed its still array : 

When as night's lamp unclouded hung, 

And down its full effulgence flung, 

It shed such soft and balmy power, 

That cot and castle, hall and bower, 

And spire and dome, and turret height, 

Appear' d to slumber in the light. 

From Henry's chapel, Rufus' hall, 

To Savoy, Temple, and St. Paul, 

From Knight sbridge, Pancras, Camden Town, 

To Redriff, Shadwell, Horselydown, 

No voice was heard, no eye unclosed, 

But all in deepest sleep reposed. 

They might have thought, who gazed around, 

Amid a silence so profound, 

It made the senses thrill, 
That 't was no place inhabited, 
But some vast city of the dead, 

All was so hush'd and still. 



A TALE OF DRURY LANE. 57 

&jie Burning. 

As Chaos which, by heavenly doom, 
Had slept in everlasting gloom, 
Started with terror and surprise, 
When light first flash' d upon her eyes ; 
So London's sons in night- cap woke, 

In bed-gown woke her dames, 
For shouts w r ere heard 'mid fire and smoke ? 
And twice ten hundred voices spoke, 

" The Playhouse is in flames." 
And. lo ! where Catherine Street extends 7 
A fiery tail its lustre lends 

To every window pane ; 
Blushes each spout in Martlet Court, 
And Barbican, moth-eaten fort, 
And Covent Garden kennels sport, 

A bright ensanguin'd drain ; 
Meux's new brewhouse shows the light y 
Rowland Hill's chapel, and the height 

Where patent- shot they sell : 
The Tennis Court, so fair and tall, 
Partakes the ray, with Surgeon's Hall, 
The ticket porters' house of call, 
Old Bedlam, close by London Wall, 



58 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Wright's shrimp and oyster shop withal 
And Richardson's Hotel. 

Nor these alone, but far and wide 
Across the Thames' s gleaming tide, 
To distant fields the blaze was borne, 
And daisy white and hoary thorn 
In borrow' d lustre seem'd to sham 
The rose or red sweet Wil-li-am. 

To those who on the hills around 

Beheld the flames from Drury's mound, 
As from a lofty altar rise ; 

It seem'd that nations did conspire, 

To offer to the god of fire 
Some vast stupendous sacrifice ! 
The summon' d firemen woke at call, 
And hied them to their stations all. 
Starting from short and broken snoose, 
Each sought his pond'rous hobnail' d shoes, 
But first his worsted hosen plied, 
Plush breeches next, in crimson dyed, 

His nether bulk embraced ; 
Then jacket thick, of red or blue, 
Whose massy shoulder gave to view 
The badge of each respective crew, 



A TALE OF DUURY LANE. 59 

In tin or copper traced. 
The engines thundered through the street, 
Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete, 
And torches glared, and clattering feet 

Along the pavement paced. 

And one, the leader of the band, 
From Charing Cross along the Strand, 
Like stag by beagles hunted hard, 
Ran till he stopp'd at Vin'gar Yard. 
The burning badge his shoulder bore, 
The belt and oil-skin hat he wore, 
The cane he had, his men to bang, 
Show'd foreman of the British gang. 
His name was Higginbottom ; now 
? Tis meet that I should tell you how 

The others came in view : 
The Hand-in-Hand the race begun, 
Then came the Phoenix and the Sun, 
Th' Exchange, where old insurers run, 

The Eagle, where the new ; 
With these came Rumford, Bumford, Cole, 
Robins from Hockley in the Hole, 
Lawson and Dawson, cheek by jowl, 
Crump from St. Giles's Pound : 

e 2 



60 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Whitford and Mitford join'd the train, 
Huggins and Muggins from Chick Lane, 
And Clutterbuck, who got a sprain 

Before the plug was found. 
Hobson and Jobson did not sleep, 
But, ah ! no trophy could they reap, 
For both were in the donjon keep 

Of Bridewell's gloomy mound ! 

E'en Higginbottom now was posed, 
For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed ; 
Without, within, in hideous show, 
Devouring flames resistless glow, 
And blazing rafters downward go, 
And never halloo, " Heads below !" 

Nor notice give at all : 
The firemen, terrified, are slow 
To bid the pumping torrent flow, 

For fear the roof should fall. 
Back, Robins, back! Crump, stand aloof! 
Whitford, keep near the walls ! 
Huggins, regard your own behoof, 
For lo ! the blazing rocking roof 
Down, down in thunder falls ! 

An awful pause succeeds the stroke, 
And o'er the ruins volumed smoke, 



A TALE OF DRUEY LANE. 

Rolling around its pitchy shroud, 
Conceal' d them from th' astonish' d crowd. 
At length, the mist awhile was clear' d, 
When, lo ! amid the wreck uprear'd, 
Gradual a moving head appear' d, 

And Eagle firemen knew : 
'Twas Joseph Muggins, name revered, 

The foreman of their crew. 
Loud shouted all in signs of woe, 
44 A Muggins ! to the rescue, ho !" 

And pour'd the hissing tide : 
Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain, 
And strove and struggled all in vain, 
For rallying but to fall again, 

He totter'd, sunk, and died ! 

Did none attempt, before he fell, 
To succour one they loved so well ? 
Yes, Higginbottom did aspire 
(His fireman's soul was all on fire,) 

His brother chief to save ; 
But, ah ! his reckless, generous ire 

Served but to share his grave ! 
'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams, 
Thro' fire and smoke he dauntless broke, 



62 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Where Muggins broke before. 
But sulphury stench and boiling drench 
Destroying sight o'erwhelm'd him quite, 

He sunk to rise no more. 
Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved, 
His whizzing water-pipe he waved ; 
" Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps, 
You, Clutterbuck, come, stir your stumps, 
Why are you in such doleful dumps ? 
A fireman and afraid of bumps ! 
What are they 'fear'd on ? fools ! 'od rot 'em ! ,? 
Were the last words of Higginbottom. 

ffp Unmal. 

Peace to his soul! new prospects bloom, 
And toil rebuilds what fires consume ! 
Eat we and drink we, be our ditty, 
" Joy to the managing committee." 
Eat we and drink we, join to rum 
Koast beef and pudding of the plum ; 
Forth from thy nook, John Horner, come, 
With bread of ginger brown thy thumb, 

For this is Drury's gay day : 
Roll, roll thy hoop, and twirl thy tops, 
And buy, to glad thy smiling chops, 



A TALE OF DRURY LANE. G3 

Crisp parliament with lollypops, 
And fingers of the Lady. 

Didst mark, how toil'd the busy train 
From morn to eve, till Drury Lane 
Leap'd like a roebuck from the plain ? 
Ropes rose and sunk, and rose again, 

And nimble workmen trod ; 
To realize bold Wyatt's plan 
Rush'd many a howling Irishman, 
Loud clatter' d many a porter can, 
And many a ragamuffin clan, 

"With trowel and with hod. 

Drury revives ! her rounded pate 
Is blue, is heavenly blue with slate ; 
She " wings the midway air" elate 

As magpie, crow, or chough ; 
White paint her modish visage smears, 
Yellow and pointed are her ears, 
No pendant portico appears 
Dangling beneath, for Whitbread's shears 

Have cut the bauble off. 

Yes, she exalts her stately head, 
And, but that solid bulk outspread, 



61 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Opposed yon on yonr onward tread, 

And posts and pillars warranted 

That all was trne that Wyatt said, 

Yon might have deem'd her walls so thick, 

Were not composed of stone or brick, 

But all a phantom, all a trick, 

Of brain disturb' d and fancy-sick, 

So high she soars, so vast, so quick. 



Johnson's ghost. 65 



JOHNSON'S GHOST. 

Ghost of Dr. Johnson rises from the trap-door, P. S., and Ghost 
o/Boswell/z-om trap-door, 0. P. The latter bows respect- 
fully to the House, and obsequiously to the Doctor's Ghost, and 
retires. 

Doctor's Ghost, loquitur. 

That which was organized by the moral ability of 
one, has been executed by the physical effort of 
many, and Dul^y Laise Theatre is now com- 
plete. Of that part behind the curtain, which has 
not yet been destined to glow beneath the brush of 
the varnisher, or vibrate to the hammer of the car- 
penter, little is thought by the public, and little need 
be said by the committee. Truth, however, is not 
to be sacrificed for the accommodation of either ; 
and he who should pronounce that our edifice has 
received its final embellishment, would be dissemi- 
nating falsehood without incurring favour, and risk- 
ing the disgrace of detection without participating 
the advantage of success. 

Professions lavishly effused and parsimoniously 
verified, are alike inconsistent with the precepts of 
innate rectitude and the practice of external policy ; 



6G REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

let it not then be conjectured, that because we are 
unassuming, we are imbecile; that forbearance is 
any indication of despondency, or humility of de- 
merit. He that is the most assured of success will 
make the fewest appeals to favour, and where nothing 
is claimed that is undue, nothing that is due will be 
withheld. A swelling opening is too often suc- 
ceeded by an insignificant conclusion. Parturient 
mountains have ere now produced muscipular abor- 
tions ; and the auditor who compares incipient gran- 
deur with final vulgarity, is reminded of the pious 
hawkers of Constantinople, who solemnly perambu- 
late her streets, exclaiming, " In the name of the 
Prophet — figs !" 

Of many who think themselves wise, and of 
some who are thought wise by others, the exertions 
are directed to the revival of mouldering and obscure 
dramas ; to endeavours to exalt that which is now 
rare only because it was always worthless, and whose 
deterioration, while it condemned it to living obscu- 
rity, by a strange obliquity of moral perception 
constitutes its title to posthumous renown. To em- 
body the flying colours of folly, to arrest evanescence, 
to give to bubbles the globular consistency as well 
as form, to exhibit on the stage the pyebald denizen 



JOHNSON'S GHOST. 67 

of the stable, and the half-reasoning parent of combs, 
to display the brisk locomotion of Columbine, or the 
tortuous attitudenizing of Punch; these are the 
occupations of others, whose ambition, limited to the 
applause of unintellectual fatuity, is too innocuous 
for the application of satire, and too humble for the 
incitement of jealousy. 

Our refectory will be found to contain every 
species of fruit, from the cooling nectarine and lus- 
cious peach, to the puny pippin and the noxious nut. 
There Indolence may repose, and Inebriety revel ; 
and the spruce apprentice, rushing in at second 
account, may there chatter with impunity, debarred 
by a barrier of brick and mortar from marring that 
scenic interest in others, which nature and educa- 
tion have disqualified him from comprehending him- 
self. 

Permanent stage-doors we have none. That 
which is permanent cannot be removed, for if re- 
moved it soon ceases to be permanent. What sta- 
tionary absurdity can vie with that ligneous barri- 
cado, which, decorated with frippant and tintinabulant 
appendages, now serves as the entrance of the lowly 
cottage, and now as the exit of a lady's bed-chamber ; 
at one time insinuating plastic Harlequin into a 



68 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

butcher's shop, and at another, yawning as a flood- 
gate to precipitate the Cyprians of St. Giles's into 
the embraces of Macheath ? To elude this glaring- 
absurdity, to give to each respective mansion the 
door which the carpenter would doubtless have given, 
we vary our portal with the varying scene, passing 
from deal to mahogany, and from mahogany to oak, 
as the opposite claims of cottage, palace, or castle 
may appear to require. 

Amid the general hum of gratulation which flat- 
ters us in front, it is fit that some regard should be 
paid to the murmurs of despondence that assail us 
in the rear. They, as I have elsewhere expressed 
it, " who live to please," should not have their own 
pleasures entirely overlooked. The children of 
Thespis are general in their censures of the archi- 
tect in having placed the locality of exit at such a 
distance from the oily irradiators which now dazzle 
the eyes of him who addresses you. I am, cries the 
Queen of Terrors, robbed of my fair proportions. 
When the king-killing thane hints to the breathless 
auditory the murders he means to perpetrate in the 
castle of Macduff " ere his purpose cool," so vast is 
the interval he has to travel before he can escape 
from the stage, that his purpose has even time to 



JOHNSON'S GHOST. 69 

freeze. Your condition, cries the Muse of Smiles, 
is hard, but it is cygnet's down in comparison with 
mine. The peerless peer of capers and congees has 
laid it down as a rule, that the best good thing 
uttered by the morning visitor should conduct him 
rapidly to the doorway, last impressions vying in 
durability with first, But when on this boarded 
elongation it falls to my lot to say a good thing, to 
ejaculate " keep moving," or to chaunt " hie hoc 
horum genitive," many are the moments that must 
elapse ere I can hide myself from public vision in 
the recesses of O. P. or P. S. 

To objections like these, captiously urged, and 
querulously maintained, it is time that equity should 
conclusively reply. Deviation from scenic pn ^priety 
has only to vituperate itself for the consequei ces it 
generates. Let the actor consider the line ol exit 
as that line beyond which he should not sovr in 
quest of spurious applause ; let him reflect that in 
proportion as he advances to the lamps, he recedes 
from nature ; that the truncheon of Hotspur acquires 
no additional charm from encountering the cheek of 
beauty in the stage-box, and that the bravura of 
Mandane may produce effect, although the throat of 
her who warbles it should not overhang the orches 



70 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

tra. The Jove of tlie modern critical Olympus, 
Lord Mayor of the theatric sky, has, ex cathedra, 
asserted, that a natural actor looks upon the audience 
part of the theatre as the third side of the chamber 
he inhabits. Surely of the third wall thus fancifully 
erected, our actors should by ridicule or reason be 
withheld from knocking their heads against the 
stucco. 

Time forcibly reminds me that all things which 
have a limit must be brought to a conclusion. Let 
me, ere that conclusion arrives, recall to your recol- 
lection, that the pillars which rise on either side of 
me, blooming in virid antiquity, like two massy ever- 
greens, had yet slumbered in their native quarry, 
but for the ardent exertions of the individual who 
called them into life : to his never- si umbering 
talents you are indebted for whatever pleasure this 
haunt of the muses is calculated to afford. If, in 
defiance of chaotic malevolence, the destroyer of 
the temple of Diana yet survives in the name of 
Erostratus, surely we may confidently predict, that 
the rebuilder of the temple of Apollo will stand 
recorded to distant posterity in that of — Samuel 
Whitbread. 



THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 



THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 

By the Hon. W. S. 

(WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER.) 

Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas. — Virgil. 

Scene draws, and discovers a Lady asleep on a couch, Enter 
Philander. 

Philander. 
Sobriety, cease to be sober, 

Cease, Labour, to dig and to delve, 
And bail to this tenth of October, 

One thousand eight hundred and twelve. 
Hah ! whom do my peepers remark ? 

'T is Hebe with Jupiter's jug ; 
Oh no, 'tis the pride of the Park, 

Fair Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 

"Why, beautiful nymph, do you close 
The curtain that fringes your eye ? 

"Why veil in the clouds of repose 

The sun that should brighten our sky ? 

Perhaps jealous Venus has oil'd 
Thy hair with some opiate drug, 



72 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Not choosing her charms should be foil'd 
By Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 

But ah ! why awaken the blaze 

Those bright burning-glasses contain, 
Whose lens with concentrated rays 

Proved fatal to old Drury Lane ? 
'T was all accidental, they cry, — 

Away with the flimsy humbug ! 
'T was fired by a flash from the eye 

Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 

Thy glance can in us raise a flame," 

Then why should old Drury be free ? 
Our doom and its dome are the same, 

Both subject to beauty's decree. 
No candles the workmen consum'd, 

When deep in the ruins they dug, 
Thy flash still their progress illum'd, 

Sweet Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 

Thy face a rich fire-place displays ; 

The mantel-piece marble — thy brows ; 
Thine eyes are the bright beaming blaze, 

Thy bib which no trespass allows, 



THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 7 

The fender's tall barrier marks ; 

Thy tippet's the fire-quelling rug, 
Which serves to extinguish the sparks 

Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg. 

The Countess a lily appears, 

Whose tresses the dewdrops emboss ; 
The Marchioness blooming in years, 

A rose-bud enveloped in moss ; 
But thou art the sweet passion-flower, 

For who would not slavery hug, 
To pass but one exquisite hour 

In the arms of Elizabeth Mugg ? 

When at court, or some Dowager's rout, 

Her diamond aigrette meets our view, 
She looks like a glow-worm dress' d out, 

Or tulips bespangled with dew. 
Her two lips denied to man's suit, 

Are shared with her favourite Pug ; 
What lord would not change with the brute - 

To live with Elizabeth Mugg ? 

Could the stage be a large vis-a-vis, 

Reserv'd for the polish'd and great, 
Where each happy lover might see 

F 



71 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

The nymph he adores t6te-a-t6te ; 
No longer I'd gaze on the ground, 

And the load of despondency lug, 
For I'd book myself all the year round, 

To ride with the sweet Lady Mugg. 

Yes, she in herself is a host, 

And if she were here all alone, 
Our house might nocturnally boast 

A bumper of fashion and ton. 
Again should it burst in a blaze, 

In vain would they ply Congreve's plug, 
For nought could extinguish the rays 

From the glance of divine Lady Mugg. 

O could I as Harlequin frisk, 

And thou be my Columbine fair, 
My wand should with one magic whisk 

Transport us to Hanover Square ; 
St. George should lend us his shrine, 

The parson his shoulders might shrug, 
But a license should force him to join 

My hand in the hand of my Mugg. 

Court-plaister the weapons should tip, 
By Cupid shot down from above, 



THE BEAUTIFUL INCENDIARY. 

Which cut into spots for thy lip, 
Should still barb the arrows of love. 

The god who from others flies quick, 
With us should be slow as a slug, 

As close as a leech he should stick 
To me and Elizabeth Mugg. 

For Time would, like us, 'stead of sand, 

Put filings of steel in his glass, 
To dry up the blots of his hand, 

And spangle life's page as they pass. 
Since all flesh is grass ere 'tis hay, 

O may I in clover live snug, 
And when old Time mows me away, 

Be stack' d with defunct Lady Mugg. 



F 2 



V 

76 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



FIKE AND ALE. 

By M. G. L. 

(MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.) 
Omnia transformat sese in miracula rerum.— Virgil. 

My palate is parch' d with Pierian thirst, 

Away to Parnassus I'm beckon' d ; 
List, warriors and dames, while my lay is rehears' d, 
I sing of the singe of Miss Drury the first, 

And the birth of Miss Drury the second. 

The Fire King one day rather amorous felt ; 

He mounted his hot copper filly ; 
His breeches and boots were of tin, and the belt 
Was made of cast iron, for fear it should melt 

With the heat of the copper colt's belly. 

Sure never was skin half so scalding as his ! 

When an infant, 'twas equally horrid, 
For the water when he was baptized gave a fizz, 
And bubbled and simmer 'd and started off, whizz ! . 

As soon as it sprinkled his forehead. 



FIRE AND ALE. 77 

Oh ! then there was glitter and fire in each eye, 

For two Hying coals were the symbols ; 
His teeth were calcined, and his tongne was so dry, 
It rattled against them as though you should try 
To play the piano in thimbles. 

From his nostrils a lava sulphureous flows, 

Which scorches wherever it lingers, 
A snivelling fellow he's call'd by his foes, 
For he can't raise his paw up to blow his red nose. 
For fear it should blister his fingers. 

His wig is of flames curling over his head, 

Well powder' d with white smoking ashes ; 
He drinks gunpowder tea, melted sugar of lead, 
Cream of tartar, and dines on hot spice gingerbread, 
Which black from the oven he gnashes. 

Each fire-nymph, his kiss from her countenance 
shields, 

'T would soon set her cheekbone a-frying : 
He spit in the tenter-ground near Spitalfields, 
And the hole that it burnt and the chalk that it yields 

Make a capital lime-kiln for drying. 

When he open'd his mouth, out there issued a blast 
(Nota bene, I do not mean swearing), 



78 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

But the noise that it made and the heat that it cast, 
I've heard it from those who have seen it, surpass'd 
A shot manufactory flaring. 

He blaz'd and he blaz'd as he gallop' d to snatch 

His bride, little dreaming of danger ; 
His whip was a torch, and his spur was a match, 
And over the horse's left eye was a patch, 
To keep it from burning the manger. 

And who is the housemaid he means to enthral 

In his cinder-producing alliance ? 
"lis Drury Lane Playhouse, so wide, and so tall, 
"Who, like other combustible ladies, must fall, 
. If she cannot set sparks at defiance. 

On his warming-pan knee-pan he clattering roll'd, 

And the housemaid his hand would have taken, 
But his hand, like his passion, was too hot to hold, 
And she soon let it go, but her new ring of gold 
All melted, like butter or bacon ! 

Oh ! then she look'd sour, and indeed well she mighty 

For Vinegar Yard was before her, 
But, spite of her shrieks, the ignipotent knight, 
Enrobing the maid in a flame of gas light, 

To the skies in a sky-rocket bore her. 



FIRE AND ALE. 79 

Look ! look ! 'tis the Ale King, so stately and starch, 

I 
"Whose votaries scorn to be sober ; 

He pops from his vat, like a cedar or larch ; 

Brown-stout is his doublet, he hops in his march, 

And froths at the mouth in October. 

His spear is a spigot, his shield is a bung ; 

He taps where the housemaid no more is, 
When lo ! at his magical bidding, upsprung 
A second Miss Drury, tall, tidy, and young, 

And sported in loco sororis. 

Back, lurid in air, for a second regale, 

The Cinder King, hot with desire, 
To Brydges Street hied ; but the Monarch of Ale r 
With uplifted spigot, and faucet, and pail, 
Thus chided the Monarch of Fire : 

" Vile tyrant, beware of the ferment I brew, 

I rule the roast here, dash the wig o' me ! 
If, spite of your marriage with Old Drury, you 
Come here with your tinderbox, courting the New, 
I'll have you indicted for bigamy !" 



80 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



PLAYHOUSE MUSINGS. 
By S. T. C. 

(S. T. COLERIDGE.) 

Ille velut ficlis arcana sodalibus olim 

Credebat libris ; neque si male cesserat, usquam 

Deeurrens alio, neque si bene. — Horat. 

My pensive Public, wherefore look you sad 1 
I had a grandmother, she kept a donkey 
To carry to the mart her crockery ware, 
And when that donkey looked me in the face, 
His face was sad ! and you are sad, my Public ! 

Joy should be yours : this tenth day of October 
Again assembles us in Drury Lane. 
Long wept my eye to see the timber planks 
That hid our ruins ; many a day I cried, 
Ah me ! I fear they never will rebuild it ! 
Till on one eve, one joyful Monday eve, 
As along Charles Street I prepared to walk, 
Just at the corner, by the pastry cook's, 
I heard a trowel tick against a brick. 
I look'd me up, and straight a parapet 



PLAYHOUSE MUSINGS. 81 

Uprose at least seven inches o'er the planks. 
Joy to thee, Drury ! to myself I said : 
He of Blackfriars Road who hymn'd thy downfall 
In loud Hosannahs, and who prophesied 
That flames, like those from prostrate Solyma, 
Would scorch the hand that ventured to rebuild thee, 
Has proved a lying prophet. From that hour, 
As leisure offer'd, close to Mr. Spring's 
Box-office door, I've stood and eyed the builders. 
They had a plan to render less their labours ; 
Workmen in elder times would mount a ladder 
With hodded heads, but these stretch'd forth a pole 
From the wall's pinnacle, they placed a pulley 
Athwart the pole, a rope athwart the pulley ; 
To this a basket dangled ; mortar and bricks 
Thus freighted, swung securely to the top, 
And in the empty basket workmen twain 
Precipitate, unhurt, accosted earth. 

Oh ! 't was a goodly sound to hear the people 
Who watch'd the work, express their various 

thoughts ! 
While some believ'd it never would be finish'd, 
Some on the contrary believ'd it would. 



82 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

I've heard our front that faces Drury Lane 
Much criticised ; they say 't is vulgar brick-work, 
A mimic manufactory of floor-cloth. 
One of the morning papers wish'd that front 
Cemented like the front in Brydges Street ; 
As it now looks they call it Wyatt's Mermaid, 
A handsome woman with a fish's tail. 

White is the steeple of St. Bride's in Fleet Street ; 
The Albion (as its name denotes) is white ; 
Morgan and Saunders' shop for chairs and tables 
Gleams like a snow-ball in the setting sun ; 
"White is Whitehall. But not St. Bride's in Fleet 

Street, 
The spotless Albion, Morgan, no, nor Saunders', 
Nor white Whitehall, is white as Drury's face. 

Oh, Mr. Whitbread ! fie upon you, sir ! 
I think you should have built a colonnade ; 
When tender Beauty, looking for her coach, 
Protrudes her gloveless hand, perceives the shower^ 
And draws the tippet closer round her throat, 
Perchance her coach stands half a dozen off, 
And, ere she mounts the step, the oozing mud 
Soaks thro' her pale kid slipper. On the morrow 



PLAYHOUSE MUSINGS. 83 

She coughs at breakfast, and her gruff papa 
Cries, " There you go ! this comes of playhouses ! " 
To build no portico is penny wise : 
Heaven grant it prove not in the end pound foolish I 

Hail to thee, Drury ! Queen of Theatres ! 
What is the Regency in Tottenham Street, 
The Royal Amphitheatre of Arts, 
Astley's Olympic, or the Sans Pareil, 
Compared with thee ? Yet when I view thee push'd 
Back from the narrow street that Christen'd thee, 
I know not why they call thee Drury Lane. 

Amid the freaks that modern fashion sanctions. 
It grieves me much to see live animals 
Brought on the stage. Grimaldi has his rabbit, 
Laurent his cat, and Bradbury his pig ; 
Fie on such tricks ! Johnson, the machinist 
Of former Drury, imitated life 
Quite to the life. The elephant in Blue Beard, 
Stuff'd by his hand, wound round his lithe proboscis, 
As spruce as he who roar'd in Padmanaba. 
Nought born on earth should die. On hackney stands 
I reverence the coachman who cries " Gee," 
And spares the lash. When I behold a spider 



84 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Prey on a fly, a magpie on a worm, 
Or view a Butcher with horn-handle knife 
Slaughter a tender lamb as dead as mutton, 
Indeeed, indeed, I'm very, very sick ! 

[Exit hastily. 



DRURY LANE HUSTINGS. 83 



DRURY LANE HUSTINGS. 

A NEW HALFPENNY E ALL AD, 
By a Pic-nic Poet. 

This is the very age of promise — to promise is most courtly and 
fashionable. Performance is a kind of will or testament, which argues 
a great sickness in his judgment that makes it. — Timon of Athens. 

To be sung by Mr. Johnstone, in the character of 

LOONEY M'TWOLTER. 

Mr. Jack, your address, says the prompter to me, 
So I gave him my card — no, that a'nt it, says he ; 
Tis your public address. Oh ! says I, never fear, 
If address you are bother'd for, only look here. 

[Puts on hat affectedly. 
Tol de rol lol, etc. 

With Drury's for sartain we'll never have done, 
We've built up another, and yet there's but one ; 
The old one was best, yet I'd say, if I durst, 
The new one is better — the last is the first. 

Tol de rol, etc. 

These pillars are called by a Frenchified word, 
A something that's jumbled of antique and verd, 



86 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

The boxes may show us some verdant antiques, 
Some old harridans who beplaster their cheeks. 

Tol de rol, etc. 

Only look how high Tragedy, Comedy, stick, 
Lest their rivals, the horses, should give them a kick ! 
If you will not descend when our authors beseech ye, 
You'll stop there for life, for I'm sure they can't 
reach ye. 

Tol de rol, etc. 

Each one shilling god within reach of a nod is, 
And plain are the charms of each gallery goddess. 
You, Brandy-faced Moll, don't be looking askew, 
When I talked of a goddess I didn't mean you. 

Tol de rol, etc. 

Our stage is so prettily fashioned for viewing, 

The whole house can see what the whole house is 

doing. 
5 T is just like the hustings, we kick up a bother, 
But saying is one thing, and doing 's another. 

Tol de rol, etc. 

We've many new houses, and some of them rum ones, 
But the newest of all is the new House of Commons ; 



DRURY LANE HUSTINGS. 87 

'T is a ricketty sort of a bantling, I'm told, 
It will die of old age when it 's seven years old. 

Tol de rol, etc. 

As I don't know on whom the election will fall, 
I move in return for returning them all ; 
But for fear Mr. Speaker my meaning should miss, 
The house that I wish 'em to sit in is this. 

Tol de rol, etc. 

Let us cheer our great Commoner, but for whose aid 
We all should have gone with short commons to bed : 
And since he has saved all the fat from the fire, 
I move that the house be call'd Whitbread's Entire. 

Tol de rol, etc. 



88 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 
Translated by Dr. B. 

(DR. THOMAS BUSBY, MXJS. DOC.) 

Lege, Dick, Lege!— Joseph Andrews. 

To be recited by the Translator's Son. 

Away, fond dupes ! who, smit with sacred lore, 
Mosaic dreams in Genesis explore, 
Dote with Copernicus, or darkling stray 
With Newton, Ptolemy, or Tycho Brahe : 
To you I sing not, for I sing of truth, 
Primaeval systems, and creation's youth ; 
Such as of old, with magic wisdom fraught, 
Inspired Lucretius to the Latians taught. 

I sing how casual bricks, in airy climb, 
Encounter'd casual horse hair, casual lime ; 
How rafters borne through wondering clouds elate, 
Kiss'd in their slope blue elemental slate, 
Clasp'd solid beams in chance- directed fury, 
And gave to birth our renovated Drury. 



ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 89 

Thee, son of Jove, whose sceptre was confessed, 
Where fair (Eolia springs from Tethys' breast : 
Thence on Olympus 'mid Celestials placed, 
Gon of the Winds, and ^Ether's boundless waste, 
Thee I invoke ! Oh, puff my bold design, 
Prompt the bright thought, and swell the harmonious 

line; 
Uphold my pinions, and my verse inspire 
With Winsor's patent gas, or wind of fire, 
In whose pure blaze thy embryo form enroll'd, 
The dark enlightens, and enchafes the cold. 

But while I court thy gifts, be mine to shun 
The deprecated prize Ulysses won ; 
Who, sailing homeward from thy breezy shore, 
The prison'd winds in skins of parchment bore : — 
Speeds the fleet bark, till o'er the billowy green 
The azure heights of Ithaca are seen ; 
But while with favouring gales her way she wins, 
His curious comrades ope the mystic skins : 
When lo ! the rescued winds, with boisterous sweep, 
Boar to the clouds, and lash the rocking deep : 
Heaves the smote vessel in the howling blast, 
Splits the stretch'd sail, and cracks the tottering mast. 
Launch'd on a plank, the buoyant hero rides 

G 



90 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Where ebon Afric stems the sable tides, 
While his duck'd comrades o'er the ocean fly, 
And sleep not in the whole skins they untie. 

So when to raise the wind some lawyer tries, 
Mysterious skins of parchment meet our eyes. 
On speeds the smiling suit — " Pleas of our Lord 
The King" shine jetty on the wide record : 
Nods the prunellad bar, attornies smile, 
And syren jurors flatter to beguile ; 
Till stript — nonsuited— he is doom'd to toss 
In legal shipwreck, and redeemless loss ; 

ucky, if, like Ulysses, he can keep 
His head above the waters of the deep. 

iEolian Monarch ! Emperor of Puffs ! 
We modern sailors dread not thy rebuffs ; 
See to thy golden shore promiscuous come 
Quacks for the lame, the blind, the deaf, the dumb ; 
Fools are their bankers — a prolific line, 
And every mortal malady 's a mine. 
Each sly Sangrado, with his poisonous pill, 
Flies to the printer's devil with his bill, 
Whose Midas touch can gild his ass's ears, 
And load a knave with folly's rich arrears. 



ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 91 

And, lo ! a second miracle is thine, 
Eor sloe-juiced water stands transform'd to wine. 
Where Day and Martin's patent blacking roll'd, 
Burst from the vase Pactolian streams of gold ; 
Laugh the sly wizards, glorying in their stealth, 
Quit the black art, and loll in lazy wealth. 
See Britain's Algerines, the lottery fry, 
Win annual tribute by the annual lie. 
Aided by thee — but whither do I stray ! — 
Court, city, borough, own thy sovereign sway : 
An age of puffs the age of gold succeeds, 
And windy bubbles are the spawn it breeds. 

If such thy power, hear the Muse's prayer ! 
Swell thy loud lungs, and wave thy wings of air ; 
Spread, viewless giant, all thy arms of mist 
Like windmill sails, to bring the poet grist ; 
As erst thy roaring son with eddying gale 
Whirl'd Orithyia from her native vale — 
So, while Lucretian wonders I rehearse, 
Augusta's sons shall patronize my verse. 

I sing of Atoms, whose creative brain, 
With eddying impulse, built new Drury Lane ; 
Not to the labours of subservient man, 

g 2 



92 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

To no young Wyatt appertains the plan ; 

We mortals stalk, like horses in a mill, 

Impassive media of Atomic will ; 

Ye stare ! then Truth's broad talisman discern — 

'T is Demonstration speaks — attend and learn ! 

From floating elements in chaos hurl'd, 
Self-form'd of atoms, sprang the infant world. 
No great First Cause inspired the happy plot, 
But all was matter, and no matter what. 
Atoms, attracted by some law occult, 
Settling in spheres, the globe was the result ; 
Pure child of Chance, which still directs the ball, 
As rotatory atoms rise or fall. 
In sether launch'd, the peopled bubble floats, 
A mass of particles and confluent motes, 
So nicely pois'd, that if one atom flings 
Its weight away, aloft the planet springs, 
And wings its course thro' realms of boundless space. 
Outstripping comets in eccentric race. 
Add but one atom more, it sinks outright 
Down to the realms of Tartarus and night. 
What waters melt, or scorching fires consume, 
In different forms their being re-assume ; 
Hence can no change arise, except in name, 
For weight and substance ever are the same. 



ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 93 

Thus with the flames that from old Drury rise, 
Its elements primaeval sought the skies, 
There, -pendulous to wait the happy hour, 
When new attractions should restore their power. 
So in this procreant theatre elate, 
Echoes unborn their future life await ; 
Here embryo sounds in aether lie conceal'd, 
Like words in northern atmosphere congeal'd. 
Here many a foetus laugh and half encore 
Clings to the roof, or creeps along the floor. 
By puffs concipient some in aether flit, 
And soar in bravos from the thundering pit : 
Some forth on ticket nights from tradesmen break, 
To mar the actor they design to make ; 
While some this mortal life abortive miss, 
Crush'd by a groan or strangled by a hiss. 
So, w T hen " Dog's-meat " re-echoes through the streets, 
Rush sympathetic dogs from their retreats, 
Beam with bright blaze their supplicating eyes, 
Sink their hind-legs, ascend their joyful cries ; 
Each, wild with hope, and maddening to prevail, 
Points the pleased ear, and wags the expectant tail. 

Ye fallen bricks ! in Drury's fire calcined, 
Since doom'd to slumber, couch'd upon the wind, 



94 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Sweet was the hour, when tempted by your freaks^ 
Congenial trowels smooth'd your yellow cheeks. 
Float dulcet serenades upon the ear, 
Bends every atom from its ruddy sphere, 
Twinkles each eye, and, peeping from its veil, 
Marks in the adverse crowd its destined male. 
The oblong beauties clap their hands of grit, 
And brick-dust titterings on the breezes flit ; 
Then down they rush in amatory race, 
Their dusty bridegrooms eager to embrace. 
Some choose old lovers, some decide for new,. 
But each, when fix'd, is to her station true. 
Thus various bricks are made as tastes invite, 
The red, the gray, the dingy, or the white. 

Perhaps some half-baked rover, frank and free., 
To alien beauty bends the lawless knee, 
But, of unhallow'd fascinations sick, 
Soon quits his Cyprian for his married brick ;,;, 
The Dido atom calls and scolds in vain, 
No crisp iEneas soothes the widow's pain. 

So in Cheapside, what time Aurora peeps, 
A mingled noise of dustmen, milk, and sweeps, 
Palls on the housemaid's ear ; amazed she stands.,. 
Then opes the door with cinder-sabled hands, 



ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 95 

And " Matches " calls. The dustman, bubbled flat, 
Thinks 't is for him, and doffs his fan-tail'd hat ; 
The milkman, whom her second cries assail, 
With sudden sink, unyokes the clinking pail ; 
Now louder grown, by turns she screams and weeps ; 
Alas ! her screaming only brings the sweeps. 
Sweeps but put out — she wants to raise a flame, 
And calls for matches, but 't is stil the same 
Atoms and housemaids ! mark the moral true, 
If once ye go astray, no match for you ! 

As atoms in one mass united mix, 
So bricks attraction feel for kindred bricks ; 
Some in the cellar view, perchance on high, 
Fair chimney chums on beds of mortar lie ; 
Enamour' d of the sympathetic clod, 
Leaps the red bridegroom to the labourer's hod, 
And up the ladder bears the workman, taught 
To think he bears the bricks — mistaken thought ! 
A proof behold — if near the top they find 
The nymphs or broken- corner'd, or unkind, 
Back to the bottom, leaping with a bound, 
They bear their bleeding carriers to the ground. 

So legends tell, along the lofty hill 
Paced the twin heroes, gallant Jack and Jill ; 



93 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

On trudged the Gemini to reach the rail 
That shields the well's top from the expectant pail, 
When, ah ! Jack falls ; and rolling in the rear, 
Jill feels the attraction of his kindred sphere ; 
Head over heels begins his toppling track, 
Throws sympathetic somersets with Jack, 
And at the mountain's base, bobbs plump against 
him, whack ! 

Ye living atoms, who unconscious sit, 
Jumbled by chance in gallery, box, and pit, 
For you no Peter opes the fabled door, 
No churlish Charon plies the shadowy oar ; 
Breathe but a space, and Boreas' casual sweep 
Shall bear your scatter'd corses o'er the deep, 
To gorge the greedy elements, and mix 
With water, marl, and clay, and stones, and sticks ; 
While, charged with fancied souls, sticks, stones, and 

clay, 
Shall take your seats, and hiss or clap the play. 

0, happy age ! when convert Christians read 
No sacred writings but the Pagan creed ; 
0, happy age ! when, spurning Newton's dreams, 
Our poet's sons recite Lucretian themes, 



ARCHITECTURAL ATOMS. 97 

Abjure the idle systems of their youth, 

And turn again to atoms and to truth. 

0, happier still ! when England's dauntless dames, 

Awed by no chaste alarms, no latent shames, 

The bard's fourth book unblushingly peruse, 

And learn the rampant lessons of the stews ! 

All hail, Lucretius, renovated sage ! 
Unfold the modest mystics of thy page ; 
Return no more to thy sepulchral shelf, 
But live, kind bard — that I may live myself! 



REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



THEATRICAL ALARM BELL. 

By the Editor of the M. P. 

(morning post.) 

Bounce, Jupiter, bounce!— ? Har a. 

Ladles and Gentlemen, 
As it is now the universally-admitted, and indeed 
pretty-generally-suspected aim of Mr. Whitbread and 
the infamous, bloodthirsty, and, in fact, illiberal 
faction to which he belongs, to burn to the ground 
this free and happy protestant city, and establish 
himself in St. James's Palace, his fellow committee- 
men have thought it their duty to watch the princi- 
ples of a theatre built under his auspices. The 
information they have received from undoubted 
authority, particularly from an old fruit-woman who 
has turned king's evidence, and whose name for 
obvious reasons we forbear to mention, though we 
have had it some weeks in our possession, has induced 
them to introduce various reforms ; not such reforms 
as the vile faction clamour for, meaning thereby 
revolution, but such reforms as are necessary to pre- 



THEATRICAL ALARM BELL. 99 

serve the glorious constitution of the only free, happy, 
and prosperous country now left upon the face of the 
earth. From the valuable and authentic source 
above alluded to, we have learnt that a sanguinary 
plot has been formed by some united Irishmen^ 
combined with a gang of Luddites, and a special 
committee sent over by the Pope at the instigation of 
the beastly Corsican fiend, for destroying all the loyal 
part of the audience on the anniversary of that 
deeply-to-be-abhorred and highly-to-be-blamed strat- 
agem, the Gunpowder Plot, which falls this year on 
Thursday, the 5th of November. The whole is 
under the direction of a delegated committee of 0. P.'s, 
whose treasonable exploits at Covent Garden you all 
recollect, and all of whom would have been hung from 
the chandeliers at that time but for the mistaken 
lenity of government. At a given signal a well- 
known 0. P. was to cry out from the gallery, " Nosey ! 
Music ! " whereupon all the 0. P.'s were to produce 
from their inside pockets a long pair of shears, edged 
with felt to prevent their making any noise, manu- 
factured expressly by a wretch at Birmingham, one 
of Mr. Brougham's evidences, and now in custody.. 
With these they were to cut off the heads of all the 
loyal N. P.'s in the house, without distinction of sex: 



100 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

or age. At the signal, similarly given, of " Throw 
him over," which it now appears always alluded to 
the overthrow of our never-sufficiently-enough-to-be - 
deeply-and-universally-to-be-venerated constitution, 
all the heads of the N. P.'s were to be thrown at the 
fiddlers, to prevent their appearing in evidence, or 
perhaps as a false and illiberal insinuation that they 
have no heads of their own. All that we know of 
the further designs of these incendiaries is, that they 
are by-a-great-deal-too-much too-horrible-to-be-men- 
tioned. 

The Manager has acted with his usual prompti- 
tude on this trying occasion. He has contracted for 
300 tons of gunpowder, which are at this moment 
placed in a small barrel under the pit, and a descend- 
ant of Guy Faux, assisted by Colonel Congreve, has 
undertaken to blow up the house, when necessary, in 
so novel and ingenious a manner, that every 0, P. 
shall be annihilated, while not a whisker of the N. P.'s 
shall be singed. This strikingly displays the advan- 
tages of loyalty and attachment to government. 
Several other hints have been taken from the theatri- 
cal regulations of the not-a-bit-the-less-on-that-ac- 
count-to-be-universlly-execrated monster, Buonaparte. 
A park of artillery, provided with chain-shot, is to be 



THEATRICAL ALARM BELL. 101 

stationed on the stage, and play upon the audience 
in case of any indication of misplaced applause or 
popular discontent * (which accounts for the large 
space between the curtain and the lamps) ; and the 
public will participate our satisfaction in learning 
that the indecorous custom of standing up with the 
hat on is to be abolished, as the Bow Street Officers 
are provided with daggers, and have orders to stab 
all such persons to the heart, and send their bodies to 
Surgeons' Hall ; — Gentlemen who cough are only to 
be slightly wounded. Fruit-women bawling " Bill of 
the play " are to be forthwith shot, for which purpose 
soldiers will be stationed in the slips, and ball-cart- 
ridge is to be served out with the lemonade. If any 
of the spectators happen to sneeze or spit, they are to 
be transported for life ; and any person who is so tall 
as to prevent another seeing, is to be dragged out and 
sent on board the tender, or, by an instrument taken 
out of the pocket of Procrustes, to be forthwith cut 
shorter, either at the head or foot, according as his 
own convenience may dictate. 

Thus, ladies and gentlemen, have the Committee, 
through my medium, set forth the not-in-a-hurry-to- 
be-paralleled plan they have adopted for preserving 
order and decorum within the walls of their magni- 



102 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

ficent edifice. Nor have they, while attentive to their 
own concerns, by any means overlooked those of the 
cities of London and Westminster. Finding, on enu- 
meration, that they have with a with- two-hands- 
and- one-tongue-to-be applauded liberality, contracted 
for more gunpowder than they want, they have 
parted with the surplus to the mattock-carrying 
and hustings-hammering high bailiff of Westminster, 
who has, with his own shovel, dug a large hole in the 
front of the parish church of St. Paul, Covent Garden, 
that, upon the least symptom of ill-breeding in the 
mob at the general election, the whole of the market 
may be blown into the air. This, ladies and gentle- 
men, may at first make provisions rise, but w r e pledge 
the credit of our theatre that they will soon fall again, 
and people be supplied as usual with vegetables in 
the in - general - strewed -with - cabbage - stalks-but-on- 
Saturday-night -lighted -up -with -lamps market of 
Covent Garden. 

I should expatiate more largely on the other ad- 
vantages of the glorious constitution of these by-the- 
whole-of-Europe-envied realms, but I am called away 
to take an account of the ladies, and other artificial 
flowers, at a fashionable rout, of which a full and 
particular account will hereafter appear. For the 



THEATRICAL ALARM BELL. 103 

present, my fashionable intelligence is scanty, on ac- 
count of the opening of Drury Lane ; and the ladies 
and gentlemen who honour me with their attention, 
will not be surprised if they find nothing under my 
usual head ! ! 



104 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



THE THEATRE. 

By the Rev. G. C. 

(REV. GEORGE CRABBE.) 

Nil intcntatum nostri liquere poetce, 

Nee minimum meruere ciecus, vestigia Graeca 

Ausi deserewe, et celebrare domestica facta.— Horat. 

A PREFACE OF APOLOGIES. 

If the following poem should be fortunate enough to 
be selected for the opening address, a few words of 
explanation may be deemed necessary, on my part, to 
avert invidious misrepresentation. The animadversion 
I have thought it right to make on the noise created 
by tuning the orchestra, will, I hope, give no lasting 
remorse to any of the gentlemen employed in the 
band. It is to be desired that they would keep their 
instruments ready tuned, and strike oiF at once. This 
would be an accommodation to many well-meaning 
persons who frequent the theatre, who not being blest 
w r ith the ear of St. Cecilia, mistake the tuning for the 
overture, and think the latter concluded before it is 
begun. 

" one fiddle will 

Give, half ashamed, a tiny flourish still — " 



THE THEATRE. 103 

was originally written " one hautboy will," but hav- 
ing providentially been informed, when this poem 
was upon the point of being sent off, that there is 
but one hautboy in the band, I averted the storm of 
popular and managerial indignation from the head of 
its blower ; as it now stands, u one fiddle " among 
many, the faulty individual will, I hope, escape 
detection. The story of the flying play-bill is calcu- 
lated to expose a practice much too common, of pin- 
ning play-bills to the cushions, insecurely, and fre- 
quently, I fear, not pinning them at all. If these 
lines save one play-bill only from the fate I have 
recorded, I shall not deem my labour ill employed. 
The concluding episode of Patrick Jennings, glances 
at the boorish fashion of wearing the hat in the one- 
shilling gallery. Had Jennings thrust his between 
his feet at the commencement of the play, he might 
haveleaned forward with impunity, and the catastrophe 
I relate would not have occurred. The line of hand- 
kerchiefs formed to enable him to recover his loss, is 
purposely so crossed in texture and materials, as to 
mislead the reader in respect to the real owner of any 
one of them. For, in the satirical view of life and 
manners, which I occasionally present, my clerical 
profession has taught me how extremely improper it 

H 



105 11EJECTED ADDRESSES. 

would be by any allusion, however slight, to give any 
uneasiness, however trivial, to any individual, how- 
ever foolish or wicked. 

G. C. 



THE THEATRE. 

Interior of a Theatre described Pit gradually fills.— The check-taker.-— 

Pit full.— The orchestra tuned.— One fiddler rather dilatory— Is re- 
proved— and repents.— Evolutions of a play-bill.— Its final settlement 
on the spikes.— The gods taken to task— and why.— Motley group of 
playgoers.— Holywell Street, St. Pancras.— Emanuel Jennings binds 
his son apprentice.— Not in London— and why.— Episode of the hat. 

Tis sweet to view, from half-past five to six, 
Our long wax candles, with short cotton wicks, 
Touch'd by the lamplighters Promethean art, 
Start into light and make the lighter start ; 
To see red Phoebus through the gallery pane 
Tinge with his beam the beams of Drury Lane, 
While gradual parties fill our widen'd pit, 
And gape, and gaze, and wonder, ere they sit. 

At first, while vacant seats give choice and ease, 
Distant or near, they settle where they please ; 
But when the multitude contracts the span, 
And seats are rare, they settle where they can. 



THE THEATRE. 107 

Now the full benches, to late comers doom 
No room for standing, miscall' d standing room. 

Hark ! the check-taker moody silence breaks, 
And bawling u Pit full," gives the check he takes ; 
Yet onward still, the gathering numbers cram, 
Contending crow T ders shout the frequent damn, 
And all is bustle, squeeze, row, jabbering, and jam. 

See to their desks Apollo's sons repair ; 
Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair ; 
In unison their various tones to tune, 
Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon ; 
In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, 
Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute, 
Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, 
Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling harp, 
Till, like great Jove, the leader, figuring in, 
Attunes to order the chaotic din. 
Now all seems hush'd — but no, one fiddle will • 
Give, half-ashamed, a tiny flourish still ; 
Foil'd in his crash, the leader of the clan 
Reproves with frowns the dilatory man ; 
Then on his candlestick thrice taps his bow, 
Nods a new signal, and away they go. 

h 2 



103 REJECTED ADDRESSE?. 

Perchance, while pit and gallery cry, " Hats off," 
And awed Consumption checks his chided cough* 
Some giggling daughter of the Queen of Love 
Drops, reft of pin, her play-bill from above ; 
Like Icarus, w 7 hile laughing galleries clap, 
Soars, ducks, and dives in air the printed scrap ; 
But, wiser far than he, combustion fears, 
And, as it flies, eludes the chandeliers ; 
Till sinking gradual, with repeated twirl, 
It settles, curling, on the fiddler's curl ; 
Who from his powder'd pate the intruder strikes,. 
And, for mere malice, sticks it on the spikes. 

Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues ? 
Who 's that calls " Silence" w T ith such leathern lungs X 
He, who, in quest of quiet, " silence " hoots, 
Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes. 

What various swains our motley walls contain ! 
Fashion from Moorflelds, honour from Chick Lane ; 
Bankers from Paper Buildings here resort, 
Bankrupts from Golden Square- and Riches Court; 
From the Hay market canting rogues in grain, 
Culls from the Poultry, sots from Water Lane ; 
The lottery cormorant, the auction shark, 



THE THEATRE. 109 

The full-price master, and the half-price clerk ; 

Boys who long linger at the gallery door, 

With pence twice five, they want but two-pence more, 

Till some Samaritan the two-pence spares, 

And sends them jumping up the gallery stairs. 

Critics we boast who ne'er their malice baulk, 
But talk their minds, we wish they'd mind their talk ; 
Big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live. 
Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give ; 
Jews from St. Mary Axe, for jobs so wary, 
That for old clothes they'd even axe St. Mary ; 
And bucks with pockets empty as their pate, 
Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait, 
Who oft, when we our house lock up, carouse 
With tippling tipstaves in a lock-up house. 

Yet here, as elsewhere, chance can joy bestow, 
Where scowling Fortune seem'd to threaten woe. 

John Richard William Alexander Dwyer 
Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire ; 
But when John Dwyer listed in the Blues, 
Emanuel Jennings polish'd Stubbs's shoes. 
Emanuel Jennings brought his youngest boy 



110 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Up as a corn-cutter, a safe employ ; 

In Holywell Street, St. Pancras, he was bred 

(At number twenty-seven, it is said), 

Facing the pump, and near the Granby's Head : 

He would have bound him to some shop in town, 

But with a premium he could not come down ; 

Pat was the urchin's name, a red-hair' d youth, 

Ponder of purl and skittle-grounds than truth. 

Silence, ye gods ! to keep your tongues in awe, 
The muse shall tell an accident she saw. 

Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat, 
But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat ; 
Down from the gallery the beaver flew, 
And spurn'd the one to settle in the two. 
How shall he act 1 Pay at the gallery door 
Two shillings for what cost, when new, but four ? 
Or till half-price, to save his shilling, w r ait, 
And gain his hat again at half-past eight ? 
Now, while his fears anticipate a thief, 
John Mullins whispers, Take my handkerchief. 
Thank you, cries Pat, but one won't make a line ; 
Take mine, cried Wilson, and cried Stokes, Take 
mine. 



THE THEATRE. HI 

A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, 
Where Spitalfields with real India vies. 
Like Iris' bow, down darts the painted hue, 
Starr'd, striped, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue, 
Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new. 
George Green below, w r ith palpitating hand, 
Loops the last 'kerchief to the beaver's band. 
TJpsoars the prize ; the youth, with joy unfeign'd, 
Kegain'd the felt, and felt what he regain'd, 
While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat 
Made a low bow, and touch'd the ransom'd hat. 



112 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



To the Managing Committee of the New Drury Lane 
Theatre. 

Gentlemen, — Happening to be wool-gathering at the 
foot of Mount Parnassus, I was suddenly seized with 
a violent travestie in the head. The first symptoms 
I felt were several triple rhymes floating about my 
brain, accompanied by a singing in my throat, which 
quickly communicated itself to the ears of everybody 
about me, and made me a burthen to my friends, and 
a torment to Doctor Apollo, three of whose favourite 
servants — that is to say, Macbeth, his butcher ; Mrs. 
Haller, his cook ; and George Barnwell, his book- 
keeper — I waylaid in one of my fits of insanity, and 
mauled after a very frightful fashion. In this woe- 
ful crisis, I accidentally heard of your invaluable New 
Patent Hissing Pit, which cures every disorder inci- 
dent to Grub Street. I send you enclosed a more 
detailed specimen of my case ; if you could mould it 
into the shape of an address to be said or sung on the 
first night of your performance, I have no doubt that 



MACBETH TKAYESTIE. 113 

I should feel the immediate effects of your invaluable 
New Patent Hissing Pit, of which they tell me one 
hiss is a dose. 

I am, etc., 

MOMUS MEDLAR. 



CASE Xo. I. 
MACBETH. 



Enter Macbeth, in a red nightcap. Page following ^ with 
a torch. 

Go, boy, and thy good mistress tell 
(She knows that my purpose is cruel), 
I'd thank her to tinkle her bell. 
As soon as she 's heated my gruel. 
Go, get thee to bed and repose, 
To sit up so late is a scandal ; 
But ere you have ta'en off your clothes, 
Be sure that you put out that candle. 

Hi fol de rol tol de rol lol. 

My stars ! in the air here's a knife, 
I'm sure it cannot be a hum ; 
I'll catch at the handle, add's life, 



114 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

And then I shall not cut my thumb. 
I've got him ! — no, at him again, 
Come, come, I'm not fond of these jokes : 
This must be some blade of the brain : 
Those witches are given to hoax. 

I've one in my pocket, I know, 
My wife left on purpose behind her : 
She bought this of Teddy-high-ho, 
The poor Caledonian grinder. 
I see thee again ! o'er thy middle 
Large drops of red blood now are spill'd, 
Just as much as to say, Diddle diddle, 
Good Duncan, pray come and be kill'd. 

It leads to his chamber, I swear ; 

I tremble and quake every joint ; 

No dog at the scent of a hare 

Ever yet made a cleverer point. 

Ah, no ! 't was a dagger of straw — 

Give me blinkers to save me from starting ; 

The knife that I thought that I saw, 

Was nought but my Eye, Betty Martin. 

Now o'er this terrestrial hive 
A life paralytic is spread, 



MACBETH TRAVESTIE. 115 

For while the one half is alive, 
The other is sleepy and dead. 
King Duncan in grand majesty 
Has got my state bed for a snooze, 
I 've lent him my slippers, so I 
May certainly stand in his shoes. 

Blow softly, ye murmuring gales, 

Ye feet rouse no echo in walking, 

For though a dead man tells no tales, 

Dead walls are much given to talking. 

This knife shall be in at the death, 

I'll stick him, then off safely get. 

Cries the world, this could not be Macbeth, 

For he'd ne'er stick at anything yet. 

Hark, hark, 't is the signal, by goles, 
It sounds like a funeral knell : 
hear it not, Duncan, it tolls 
To call thee to heaven or hell. 
Or if you to heaven won't fly, 
But rather prefer Pluto's aether, 
Only wait a few years till I die, 
And we'll go to the Devil together. 

Bi fol de rol, etc. 



116 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 



CASE No. II. 

THE STRANGER. 

Who has e'er been at Drury must needs know the 

Stranger, 
A wailing old Methodist, gloomy and wan, 
A husband suspicious, his wife acted Ranger, 
She took to her heels, and left poor Hypocon. 
Her martial gallant swore that truth was a libel, 
That marriage was thraldom, elopement no sin; 
Quoth she, I remember the words of my Bible, 
My spouse is a Stranger, and I'll take him in. 
With my sentimentalibus lachrymae roar 'em, 
And pathos and bathos delightful to see ; 
And chop and change ribs a-la-mode Germanorum, 
And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee. 

To keep up her dignity, no longer rich enough, 
Where was her plate ? why 't was laid on the shelf. 
Her land fuller's earth, and her great riches kitchen 

stuff, 
Pressing the dinner instead of herself. 
No longer permitted in diamonds to sparkle, 



STRANGER TRAVESTIE. 117 

Now plain Mrs. Haller, of servants the dread, 
With a heart full of grief and a pan full of charcoal, 
She lighted the company up to their bed. 

Incens'd at her night, her poor Hubby in dudgeon 
Roain'd after his rib in a gig and a pout, 
Till, tired with his journey, the peevish curmudgeon 
Sat down and blubber'd, just like a church spout. 
One day on a bench as dejected and sad he laid, 
Hearing a squash, he cried, Damn it, what's that 1 
'T was a child of the Count's, in whose service lived 

Adelaide, 
Soused in the river and squalled like a cat. 

Having drawn his young excellence up to the bank, it 
Appear'd that himself was all dripping, I swear, 
No wonder he soon became dry as a blanket, 
Exposed as he was to the Count's son and heir. 
Dear sir, quoth the Count, in reward of your valour, 
To show that my gratitude is not mere talk, 
You shall eat a beefsteak which my cook, Mrs. 

Haller, 
Cut from the rump with her own knife and fork. 

€>ehold, now the Count gave the stranger a dinner, 
With gunpowder tea, which you know brings a ball, 



118 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

And, thin as he was, that he might not grow thinner, 

He made of the Stranger no stranger at all ; 

At dinner fair Adelaide brought up a chicken, 

A bird that she never had met with before, 

But, seeing him, scream' d, and was carried off" kicking, 

And he bang'd his nob 'gainst the opposite door. 

To finish my tale without roundaboutation, 
Young master and missee besieged their papa, 
They sung a quartetto in grand blubberation ; 
The Stranger cried, Oh ! Mrs. Haller cried, Ah ! 
Though pathos and sentiment largely are dealt in, 
I have no good moral to give in exchange, 
For though she as a cook might be given to melting, 
The Stranger's behaviour was certainly strange, 
With his sentimentalibus lachrymae roar em, 
And pathos and bathos delightful to see, 
And chop and change ribs a-la-mode Germanorum, 
And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee. 



GEORGE BARNWELL TRAVESTIE. 119 



CASE No. III. 

GEOEGE BARNWELL. 

George Barfwell stood at the shop door, 
A customer hoping to find, sir ; 
His apron was hanging before, 
But the tail of his coat was behind, sir. 
A lady so painted and smart, 
Cried, Sir, I've exhausted my stock o' late, 
I've got nothing left but a groat, 
Could you give me four-penn'orth of chocolate ? 
Rum ti, etc. 

Her face was rouged up to the eyes, 
Which made her look prouder and prouder, 
His hair stood on end with surprise, 
And her's with pomatum and powder. 
The business was soon understood ; 
The lady, who wish'd to be more rich, 
Cries, Sweet sir, my name is Milwood, 
And I lodge at the Gunner's in Shoreditch. 
Rum ti, etc. 



120 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

Now nightly he stole out, good lack, 
And into her lodging would pop, sir, 
And often forgot to come back, 
Leaving master to shut up the shop, sir. 
Her beauty his wits did bereave ; 
Determin'd to be quite the crack o, 
He lounged at the Adam and Eve, 
And cail'd for his gin and tobacco. 
Rum ti, etc. 

And now (for the truth must be told) 
Though none of a 'prentice should speak ill, 
He stole from the till all the gold, 
And ate the lump sugar and treacle. 
In vain did his master exclaim, 
Dear George, don't engage with that Dragon, 
She'll lead you to sorrow and shame, 
And leave you the devil a rag on 
Your Rum ti, etc. 

In vain he entreats and implores 
The weak and incurable ninny, 
So kicks him at last out of doors, 
And Georgy soon spends his last guinea. 



GEORGE BARNWELL TRAVESTIE. 121 

His uncle, whose generous purse 
Had often relieved him, as I know, 
Now finding him grow worse and worse. 
Refused to come down with the rhino. 
Rum ti, etc. 

Cried Mil wood, whose cruel heart's core 
Was so flinty that nothing could shock it. 
If ye mean to come here any more, 
Pray come with more cash in your pocket. 
Make nunky surrender his dibs, 
Rub his pate with a pair of lead towels, 
Or stick a knife into his ribs, 
I'll warrant he'll then show some bowels. 
Rum ti, etc. 

A pistol he got from his love, 
'T was loaded with powder and bullet, 
He trudg'd off to Camberwell Grove, 
But wanted the courage to pull it. 
There 's nunky as fat as a hog, 
While I am as lean as a lizard, 
Here's at you, you stingy old dog ! 
And he whips a long knife in his gizzard. 
Rum ti, etc. 

I 



122 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

All you who attend to my song, 
A terrible end of the farce shall see, 
If you join the inquisitive throng 
That followed poor George to the Marshalsea. 
If Milwood were here, dash my wigs, 
Quoth he, I would pummel and lam he*r well ; 
Had I stuck to my prunes and figs, 
I ne'er had stuck nunky at Camberwell. 
Rum ti, etc. 

Their bodies were never cut down, 
For granny relates with amazement, 
A witch bore 'em over the town, 
And hung them on Thorowgood's casement. 
The neighbours, I've heard the folks say, 
The miracle noisily brag on, 
And the shop is to this very day, 
The sign of the George and the Dragon. 
Rum ti, etc. 



PUNCH S APOTHEOSIS. 123 



PUNCH'S APOTHEOSIS. 
By T. H. 

(THEODORE HOOK.) 

Rhymes the rudders are of verses, 

With which, like ships, they steer their courses. — Hudibras. 

Scene draws, and discovers Punch on a throne surrounded by 
Lear, Lady Macbeth, Macbeth, Othello, George 
Barnwell, Hamlet, Ghost, Macheath, Juliet, Friar, 
Apothecary, Romeo, and Falstaff. Punch descends, 
and addresses them in the following 

RECITATIVE. 

As manager of horses Mr. Merryman is, 
So I with you am master of the ceremonies, — 
These grand rejoicings, let me see, how name ye 'em % 
Oh, in Greek lingo, ? t is E — pi — thalamium. 
October s tenth it is, toss up each hat to-day, 
And celebrate with shouts our opening Saturday. 
On this great night 't is settled by our manager, 
That we, to please great Johnny Bull, should plan a 

jeer, 
Dance a bang-up theatrical cotillion, 
And put on tuneful Pegasus a pillion ; 

I 2 



124 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

That every soul, whether or not a cough he has, 

May kick like Harlequin, and sing like Orpheus. 

So come, ye pupils of Sir John Gallini, 

Spin up a tetotum like Angiollini ; 

That John and Mrs. Bull from Ale and Teahouses., 

May shout huzza for Punch's Apotheosis ! ! 

They dance and sing. 

Air. — Sure such a day. — Tom Thumb. 

Lear. 

Dance, Regan, dance with Cordelia and Goneril, 
Down the middle, up again, poussete, and cross ; 
Stop, Cordelia, do not tread upon her heel, 
Regan feeds on coltsfoot, and kicks like a horse. 
See she twists her mutton fists like Molyneux or 

Beelzebub, 
And t'other's clack, who pats her back, is louder far 

than Hell's hubbub. 
They tweak my nose, and round it goes, I fear they'll 

break the ridge of it, 
Or leave it all just like Vauxhall, with only half the 

bridge of it. 

Omnes. 
Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holiday, 
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 



punch's apotheosis. 125 

Lady Macbeth. 

I kill'd the King, my husband is a heavy dunce, 

He left the grooms unmassacred, then massacred the 
stud, 

One loves long gloves for mittens, like King's Evi- 
dence, 

Let truth with the fingers out, and won't hide blood. 

Macbeth. 
When spooneys on two knees implore the aid of 

sorcery, 
To suit their wicked purposes they quickly put the 

laws awry, 
With Adam I in wife may vie, for none could tell 

the use of her, 
Except to cheapen golden pippins hawk'd about by 

Lucifer. 

Omnes. 
Eound let us bound, for this is Punch's holiday, 
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 

Othello. 
Wife, come to life, forgive what your black lover did, 
Spit the feathers from your mouth and munch roast 
beef; 



126 EXPECTED ADDRESSES. 

Iago lie may go and be toss'd in the coverlid, 

That smother' d you because you pawn'd my hand- 
kerchief. 

George Barnwell. 

Why, neger, so eager about your rib immaculate'? 

Milwood shows for hanging us they've got an ugly 
knack o' late ; 

If on beauty 'stead of duty but one peeper bent he 
sees, 

Satan waits with Dolly baits to hook in us apprentices. 

Omnes. 
Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holiday, 
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 

Hamlet. 
I'm Hamlet in camlet, my ap and perihelia, 
The moon can fix which lunatics make sharp or flat, 
I stuck by ill lick, enamour'd of Ophelia, 
Old Polony like a sausage, and exclaim'd, " Rat ! 
Rat!" 

Ghost. 
Let Gertrude sup the poisoned cup, no more 111 be 

an actor in 
Such sorry food, but drink home-brew'd of Whit- 
bread's manufacturing. 



punch's apotheosis. 127 

Macheath. 

I'll Polly it, and folly it, and dance it quite the 

dandy, ; 
But as for tunes I have but one, and that is Drops of 

Brandy, 0. 

Omnes. 

Round let us bound, for this is Punch's holiday, 
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 

Juliet. 

I'm Juliet Capulet, who took a dose of hellebore. 
A Hell-of-a-bore I found it to put on a pall. 

Friar. 
And I am the friar who so corpulent a belly bore. 

Apothecary. 
And that is why poor skinny I have none at all. 

Romeo. 
I'm the resurrection man of buried bodies amorous. 

Falstaff. 

I'm fagg'd to death, and out of breath, and am for 
quiet clamorous, 



128 REJECTED ADDRESSES. 

For though my paunch is round and staunch, I ne'er 

begin to fill it ere I 
Feel that I have no stomach left for entertainment 
military. 

Omnes. 
Eound let us bound, for this is Punch's holiday, 
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza ! huzza ! 

[Exeunt dancing. 



November , 1854. 



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24 



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